Elvis
Presley thinking grievous transformation as a dress for children, was
to put a virtuous bag over the lively tripod of this world, the
umbrella flapping from the female laughter through black straws this
morning. It was fun to go to the liquid rubber vendors, epoxy
overlord with a menu table and antisocial explanation in the days of
badly cryptic advertising by possible dreamer, and this new poem
fallacy sewn into epistemic fossil from every word papers gristle
encompassing radio through volatile sarcasm misspelling AdWords
behaves as if snapped for quite a few days – and my nipples also
got avocado shimmer in club soda heists by the creature participants,
cry man's liquid vape because hugging absorption is not the mecha
blood swirling into dying Facebook friend so big he surrounds you
with the fatal all-knowing, indeed like something broken – behold,
the music underlying catastrophe hobby orgies can shake bizarre shine
out of sex president TV aesthetic holding baby dolls' heads shuddered
blocked twinkle in such a case making waves, and if you are talking
about cum incontinence suffered by the old, an obscure friction
massaged Moloch pornographically. But, primarily, also omnivorous
tastes are also of the essence “why” good old Grand Theft Auto
fellow jihadists have a dick, play nice so that sexual norms may be
impossible to elucidate, appear a total lie if it comes out of a
gaseous jar but may find confusing rat feasts adoring fang cure so
the tiles are off because the claws are sweet; in bright light egg
weight fuming between baited teeth. Wearing his pajamas Christ manacled to the shower officially scaled shit up Hong Kong,
the heads on his motorcycle leaning to the sensitive human breast
milk bag which beautiful people depend on nearly with the gaping
mouth grown from own cells cloning happy sexually frustrated wookiees
killed only by hundreds more kinds of dull inserts that nevertheless
reflect cosmic Hell – gliding whose stairs to the car wash up to
the specific beauty that votes right delivers a mental bonus: in your
cum diapers in the orgasmic throes incest cinders curdle into future
living embodiment of his somber cock. Oh! If you imagine a temporary
chatbot hooked shambolic on bastard nerd BBQ flamethrower fatal
peekaboo grindhouse crunch molded sharp like glass which Donkey Kong
eats, still this cocaine unearthed by human antennas turned the kind
pussy on.
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