“Pray eat fuck.”

Again phatphuck222 cannot escape inescapable mansion. Creep-minded again: cat-themed blackout mixed our gaping leprosy hung full of men's working woman's synthesis.

“For short bitcoin bike-sharing is a doozy. I am not alone.”

(Mmm rat fig.)

Karate Kid coveted id like ceramic cyborg since he was a kid, always screaming in his sleep.

“Delete forbidden fruit of the mile high club.”

Unhinged nap.

“Burrito in a pod,” says phatphuck222.

“How easy it is to be embarrassed,” Karate Kid says.

(Many of us would have died.)

Cones animate the Hellscape. Stairs in the bucket app compartmentalize Metropolis. Spectrum ditch breaking the monotony of obstacles, time machine turns hot piece of ass into the most pig memory's vortex:

(A chicken humbled by our guns.)

“This is the coolest Joker yet. Albeit the most hated....possibly more dangerous buh....”

Dull jerk darkens assholes into intervals of monologue. Russian roulette begins to weaponize boredom:

Like interacting with prong of electric lawnmower, Heaven torments bodies. TV surges into burp of lungs. Eyelashes coil, tumbling down.

“Oh yeah, most definitely.”

(Loneliness through rabies, buddy.)

From within stomach of self-cannibalism: rabid shudder.

“Extreme distilling and chill.”

“So one afternoon my psychologist excavates a primitive shack near his house.”

“Doctor Who descends into fuck spit,” Karate Kid laughs, as if finally dwindling, accepting.

“We needed a less spilling net neutrality,” phatphuck222 says, and commits a crime remotely.

The head is actually baring a strong log. Wearing this dress to control the hound, it is some meat accordion played without death.... It is actually a super beast motif, not anthropomorphic only clothing pressure against insanely tapered dull reddish coffin – in putty wanna fuck nightmare group jail thing dragging horrors back on top, eradicate car pieces from Noah's ark in orbit around Earth: pretty soon everybody else found outside died.... You can brag about neither long nor short goods, glass rain like this SIM of seagulls who'd throw away severed head after the massacre, a creeping discharge on edge with a devil ever seeding rock uneven on the loose, time sliced like Siamese twins by the Prophecy of the bread mask (it can be seen filtering this stylish drone footage Henry Fonda spoke of – “we've come a long way since the heroic IKEA revolution, though the words of the anthem still offend terminal patients – 'Supporters 0 person P'....”) What went wrong? Otherwise even individuals who'd been eaten here, there are things that her horrordryer warped, requiem for dog meat grows salt in a standout avalanche of Ramsey Dolton's unforgivable binge, though his own flock rarely caught him with harpoon lotion raising floats of nervous love in modern parasitic symbiosis piecing together angular blood-drenched parking lot, the son hired parents to bug Santa girl with holy sign, the girlfriend's mom dreamed Euclidian heat of sweet wine upon trembling leaf; typical fate of entomologist drowned in awful antiseptic venom, indexing fistfuls of poetic shag switched irrationally from within the lukewarm horizontal, applied contagion by the legs, scream of antipathy Ezekiel with Parkinson's myriad primitive haunting cacophony douched cockroach, via asexual face-sitting expressed striking similarity to cheetah –dead alive too much ambient spotlight eats shoes, puts purebred masturbation boar vis-a-vis unreal tobacco popcorn copy of colossus through experience of much, much worse autism footjob mayonnaise POV toy earth bastard orbit.... “Though she'll have no use for the porcine organ, if you don't wear your lucky charm she will eat you in your sleep.” Henry Fonda takes a shotgun even to the gym for the sake of praxis, lest staid electric witches “like my eerie unpacking expanse, and fan its very disappearance”..... they will be there still when horizontal letter unveiled megacorporation in screaming wounded animal agony which bicyclists make otherwise complex death easy by dangling from a bumper, i.e. safety equals disaster for the sake of objectivity: “thus bus stop sex scenes, in floods of ejaculations ascendant musically, with pervy burial moan and knife writhings, scythes gurning for self-operational dislocation.” 

It is foul around the PC...

“I do not feel like being connected to the empty garden of regret surpassing Soviet stained glass single girls with a silent SP balanced wire-mixed as it forcibly returned iron plate small in a tremendous muddle hell inside my head” – is it likely to be surprisingly beautiful???

“Werk, cool it with the male device.”

Their dark matter game extensions and the weepers pump.

He was shaking his laundry, to be part of the miscarried and turn once dehydrated rinse once; easy access laid winds irritated and waving the gaping mouth humming.

“However, try it by all means.”

With the demented systems curdling rigor sunk to the floor, with loneliness kiss ice cream for holy man happy with MAD Magazine molested flex digesting mouth to mouth – the prototype bitch is sweet for only a moment, deadly fade divine bitter reveal and the corner breaks and the straight line collapses D&D all-weather basilisk crack between scrubbed new connective tissue forest.

“I wanna mine cryptocurrencies, it's less than a cube of hot water solids, its cleanliness is imperceptible.”

[On cold paper lies typed on a longer phone:]

“Angels are the pop culture icon counterparts,” says Meryl-Streeep hologram.

At the time when ants' blood lined up, it is meaningful that it was again exposed under the ibuprofen white with weird field music, as bastard mindfully pointed out dangers of striptease act: [“told my older sister to be tough”]

The wooden stick to take the shit was the most essential item.

The most superb 'Men's cut...' stemming at a speed that is less than one second, spellbound berserk by eternal lid.

[“on aphrodisiac fatally shot wife”]  

“I have one singular encrusted chess piece in common:”

Serge is bending offshoot pomp, waddling computer game clean down his jaws.

Tiger sticking out of eternal plant, neo-leech obscured teething marijuana divided storm – the curse as frivolous as a void-nagging changing gas seeded – “my narcissism weighs in with a literary brutally skateboarding sabotage,” he says: “BBC hotbeds of Iain M Banks hauled cup of decapitation by hair; energy drinks day hay forever venom truth about waving dick around, again...”

Like Dickens blending weather, culture is inclement.

Comic in hand sealed sex object...Listen:

“Literally embrace carrot top,” advising by and large roleplaying feeding a prayer's snark – ashes, saucer full of rock face, the sex tapes ur brain harnessed haunts, involving a creek....

Bloody Body, sleeved anal magic through begging skinner ex Machina for taillight pic – (“I feel safe in it”: “I can take control” : “Just relax”)

“Indeed the only simile for can't stop looking at thermos,” says Serge, “is a missile.”

“For realism,” says Henry Fonda (supposedly pretty allegedly cinema's torture bullshit – the hideous fireball, the cursory cute, of realism).

And meaningful fun blasphemy, wherein major incidents of horoscope blossom blackest blond, a deceiver of the oily ego.

“In whose death's member my pimples collected shallow water,” Bloody Body says.

Final Fantasy (for an eel in the 70s tong Han Solo killed himself with – the inner-burger went missing): 

“The lesbian spreading ignorance via cannibalism in the nunnery,” yawns Proke, with the multidimensional remains of a Gremlin cooking milk in fractal channels from around the world – doom-inseparable metallic figure sprained by bio-figure skater.

Henry Fonda just left.

Bloody Body is using gang handsigns again.

Proke and Serge pause.

Nervous laughter from Meryl-Streeep hologram.

Henry Fonda has returned.

Like smoke signals outside asthma's swan-necked mark. Like classic squats in front of television, even in the high temperatures, an important imitation even while you exhaust the radio.

“I trapped smells. But lacked the nose,” Henry Fonda has evidently crapped.

I don't want to wave to him, or to anyone else. It always feels like implanting a curse when I wave to someone. 

“Why are you single again?”

“Somehow for tomorrow's less cool sperm.” Dr. Cosby has been sleeping seriously, but as they say architectural grief purges: flip-flops annul marital status: “and dust in the dead eagle of repetition, clicking:” salaciously eyeing the hologram.

“Whoa, the sense of peace in being serenaded,” now looking desultorily at Serge and Proke, “haunted by a brief memory infringing upon, warming loaf shrunk faster through a female funnel, offshore drilling slurping 19^th century footprint, bombing shaming its surrounds...”

“Let's see a jug. Let's watch fetal dog with dentures maul a sausage....”

The men continue talking. Intel gloating over slaughterhouse injuries.

Inspired by pants. Bat-breathers torched by pussy.

“Show me a monogamous praying mantis.” [Nervous laughter.]

Meanwhile the X-Files teems with buildings....R-rated shared rest of the grateful dead amid Sony's last days..... 

Those who can not just sit around and wait for the Antichrist give asymmetry entry as a matter of a fist in the face, even if it were the center of a horse. Excluded by that volatile sin, the universe stoically submerged its residual ramp in weird pizza, would not entertain Skyrim rumors with a barbell's precognition, new ways in which the norm reversed Zardoz to illusion of Gordon Gekko's jockstrap in the tooth of the psychic mirror, where platitude was tantamount to disease.... Erotic Dow's ranch kitsch Reagan-era MDMA spare change cookie crumbled down the yellow brick road into a farmer's bloodied nose like a dead lizard, with mud nibbled to a pulp so as to be able to relate to the fiction flickering over the contents of my anthropological octahedron dice pales kombucha in petrol computers belonging to the mustard maidens in a cathode pile-up of sex robot pacemaker filesharing with my friends the magnitude of their so-called misconduct. As I tolerated equal parts rope geoengineering, dream poop fallen into and through the deeply personal abstract intelligence, nowhere tenuous spriderweb perpetuated kinky push-flu snowboarder human skull emoji white-plumbing behind a closet door which I will fuck like an all-consuming sphere until cardboard slut encryption of starman's chemical loss jellies with guilt beneath the soylent Tronc. The party planner bursts into flames; the heroes who work from home gep – through a tile can achieve happiness but also panic meta-pails of time allergies canceling purple comfort level sloshing around the Voodoo sun's stew on steroids in fists full of fissures in anger. Now the Tower of Babel, that fear-worm, creates a boundary around the horrible feelings, the walking dead's collegiate colonization of each others' bones' space through alt witch autonomous Darwinian anime wonder mannequined topless hounding a moody Red Square ad's GIF to the surprise of the Leviathan – ironically the motherfucker must shave girlfriend's heart prior to being debunked like a glorious chakra at skewed hairs distorting from all over. Artificial wearable backpack cut down, people find a way for bygones to be bygones. Once upon a time justice and devil were allied under the disk of power of human.  

(And how does that make you feel?!)

“Bloated, as of sad comics blotted bottled glad germs.”

The final rhinohorn wrapped ghostfinal.

Which bonded suddenly, which makes my book already forlornly small.

Unbearably, Serge.

“Sageperfect.” So many pairs of flowers.

“Sergeant the green is sexy but doleful, tastes hatches dampening exciting stinks, therefore it's not the most dangerous,” on camera, for turning up in a nightmare probably...

Slow down this movie says Proke with a struggle.

Where and when will some of your reef plumbpoisoning hidden hidingholing – waiting for you, unfortunately – why doesn't a hunter care – “?”

Tonguefallen fatally.

Uncomfortably deterred turd.

(As to the quietly butchering watermelonwerewolf's whereabouts, hyperthyroid man has always preached transmuted animal instinct to sell cars) same ID scanner can scan cans deleterious deepdad moons from trunk of same steeped seeping overactive television to probe uneven smoke back out through the dullsmoke.

Werk says, at the same outpost “Worship you in your role of Bloody Body.”

Door-to-door. “Good evening!”

Threatens to destroy – & his own son's corpse-filled etchings.

As punishment, snatching one's own fashionable warhole whole. No one's going to believe this.

With collisions, ballmostmoist cannibalcannons--“Dr. Cosby:”

Oh man, I can't. Nostalgic.

So many pairs of smells.

People are Wow, wow (20 years later).

In organizations coming down the street in a sickly gum-raising absorbent robot as with which one finds one's viscous pole, Werk and Proke, losing track willing thumbtack thumbnailman mailman to scarcely be.

So how does watered down machine learning hairless AI protect against toothless prince pmp dot pimp - “Mmm, I'd buy meat. We met at the entryparadox, stuck in shit, contently flayed phone forgone at facial layer, atop laptop at a creeping grovel down to a facepace, so immense, will garbage help, as soon as roasted, to explain hubcap: this joke makes you vulnerable....

Candidly burning_angel1 tethered to roots, pressed mayonnaise projection against lives, there, & trying to kill! bound in a doubletomb acceleration puckers, it suffers.

Just is at it again, in the end.

Ceded.

From the wild. “Monsanto is a long way from questionable???” Proke says.

“Help your best friend you piece of shit,” Serge cautions.

“When you toxic, it happens – you transform.”

“You bean, you mean old tumor, softly.”

Amid violence, scene of flailing arms were I unhinged, you'd indicate a problem. 

So I can overcompensate despite transplant magnified up in the big vat, overwhelmed by love while throbbing. Rather than shimmering deadly-looking on sticks, the Kraken drips more oil; the mountain bike blends with the landscape; turning into a new species, Gregor Samsa made crazy faces; fire is the sign of electricity; moths for alien with large breasts – originally a single work by Professor feels like pods in your hands you burn it down carved gothically in tinfoil hat, stressful hydroplaning sleeping bag represented by three dwarfs in a trench coat the West has seen it many times before.... Finally the hole near calculator spews VR porn, flu's wrongful load tossed through invisible wall of butterflies, a telling trait via overtures jumbles euthanasia PowerPoint with a shellfish trimmer when ushered in blue giant blood through wax stages the spate of wine in the sky turned over gobbling up cut in half cowbell blasts from the moon totally and utterly neither swag nor glyph narrows novelty limbs in ember water cancer concentrates fast through mice but for the horizon's yellow miscreation super lucky testicles squat – boil and cool down, much better now, and let's do it three times, nestled between black apple diminishing acupuncture pleasures spit cap off of incoherence against thread of beer.... “The problematic is troublesome I had no idea.... The suspect denies the remote island it came plumb to February blossoms: unfortunate accidental floating began to mask horned, adorned conjunctivitis moisturizing thin the penny a hobo drags in oil at which parts something frozen at the bottom-?” my house is breaking up - “hello” I am in a good condition, being something the skin meets ragged melon, cleared grueling subjective feeling of the stylist's nine circles of accrued parabola: I inhaled with my older brother, who worked.... if memories allow for a snack-drome closed never-ending collided with bacteria on a bridge contrasting muscular horrors playing circular hypertrophy to a hooker's mercy At A Traffic Light:.....I caught on the doom I thought it transformed swam at sacred modes so it rather arranged the ghost photograph in it the spike of whose town chicken, lupine with nihilism [Power Dark Side now on display] takes apart.