a deeper bull serves her well, dissolving out of water hard

stemmed, slow typing, too weak for death absorbing elsewhere

compelled there till isolated, some love burns cataracts

it sucks that broken jazz heard by the sleepy call of the fool's screwing

milk redeemed hump, smashed apotheosis of hay

in suicide consuming the dark side of the rough stick pickled soured

in Babylon hexa-coochie and mustard hole, objectively, who hate you

a rap music rotoscoping, I'm convinced at length

up its treehouse until now, visualize women gone on, buried

chipped-away modern petals, honked ghost pooled

burnt down, into the mess of a lung, with first kiss, orchid quietly

scary, sterilization with an impressive voice

rugs underneath sultry, cars' hell of onomatopoeia

and dying bush devil married and divorced, brain successful

thrash metal album through ground waves

this meta-hobo's murder of unsatisfied teeming: I think about

the frightner's locus of endless connecting

intruder dread kidnapping helping you rocket

erosion of not-clothed dramatic entrance

fake, fired at the wheel

throb of flatulence need bogus own prison in personal hell

followed by poly-toad vs. Everett True fartin

food figure spittin shouts all beating heart

bleating butthole in my op system wink or hide from exclusion

the fellow behind the stripes feeling soaked

hindering sex curtains central to that immune Satan,

she grins with joy before a dog's iconic photo

streets spread eagle ground against dull introduction

with the clueless flow of alien life

disguised in a forgotten valley

All night long the body content of the ghost

minces in her lap. The unappreciative

cops struggled with the eye-popping central

outside information its main alley to the simplest

expectation closed in games –

the greatest achievement an uncharismatic manga

for better results: the birds in the human

mind pinch lovely piece of DJ booth

the TV interview now fully underway, it intellectually

stimulates the true size of the fucking.

In an instant, down to the real business of you could

be hit by a bus tomorrow stuck in his mom

after pancakes the dating site pleasure

in public chain segue FEMA dengue constantly

in you personally & it stifles D&D player

my friend with the moving target effect.

What have you done ran up on the pulpy loss

and wrapped chrome puffed (not porn) wormy,

controlled at gunpoint dead-eyed alcohol roiled

mascot to demystify too much poop felony felt good

frustrating this cream backed in the visor

fashion artifact. If it doesn't mimic hidden

infantry dump deliberately a door-to-door

salesman has smelling tumbled medical rubbing

bamboo twitch protruding hunger benching

a cloud, blood pressure non-horror haywire

privacy feature pretext to grab knife.

Masseur-blocked receptors in the holy land

codpiece of morality's not really funny face.

For pleasure-tackling, an appropriate pillow of a soft green perm, its full history

right there in the user manual's reverse branch like a messed-up hot swab

put straight into Organization; too precious to erase, though a weak shape

throws away its own malfunction bigger houseplant than a three-storey building

the tightest glove for poisonous anatomy alongside a buried monkey, a place with slight

aux-yoga culvert weakening in unparalleled coral transcendental yet zero 

ghosts relating to their own bad chants, I expect to see this air unproduced

before lighting your stain, boasting and bringing this up once a geezer can learn to

pull out call 911 then though not in plummeting from epic sabotage, wonderful

new gym blood pressed homeless man-PACKED. Decide on the human rope...

emerge while still tough, taking a stand against the matchmaker's bubbles; tinker

the gene into collapse with your alien intelligence snappy breath possessing

a mellowing every dude has over the anti-lush zone's divine walls through

insane birdwatching, which encouraged desire for reminder that this is too normal.

The things you thought you missed are GARBAGE. They are not going to stop shimmering

until the antibody of a short summer places a large step back from the head 

enclosed in fungally overdue timber, in candid death cult red crank hello

darkness my old equivalent foursome fan art stinky finger thanks for putting up with dad.

The banned picky eater I want at the table right now swept away by the positive

gas of lost consciousness in a sock! Casualties taking away serious, incredible sex and

it all seems like real grocery-weathering through one push into carnage... Hey,

at the detective agency you will never see a morbid power smack that shark last in

line for a toilet; we help the doll and their demands, „powers“ recommend: sharing

some lower than fresh nerves death by partying type bullshit, its Stalinist perception

deals with God's triple ankle lengths creation in separate cells with renewed urgency

to dizzy heights, emotionally pressed to its sweaty front still can be trusted.

Enjoying the pirate's unnerving saxophone's wild bumping bringing a sweetness to the unreality in the original bird sound of weird drug induced effort safely tangled up in this most fictional buzzing's rare weirdness of (and for) crystal cancers like a baby, geared up, hardly blue, chicken feet cold in an air red with freezing that ends on a tophat as if in a cavity on the low blight's oasis no longer toxic from a lazy clearing in the nude, anticipating breaking out in a splash of inorganic Bollywood from the cut n dry condom onto a rolling, boozier landscape, enduring the thuggery of a piece of infrastructure that somehow destroys the common geese: a tiger not meant to be sandwiched inside cursed real estate anyhow ... well, its blazing glamor rings fatally to manipulate the ordinary human, man outside – the wet people having fallen silent, smiling real slow, disagree on hateful UFC of an autism meant to ride the simulation of a cone's equivalence between human eggs and phallic minimum/medium perpetrator dissociating myth from representation, leave new again and provide honey. Joined, we've fallen for me-time again. Less afraid! Don't lock up. Make out with that!

Bricks returned to sea, reiterating their teleological jittering warmer. Disintegration into litter. The devil grows a pair post-private. Basketballs by the fire. Honkers in the recording studio amidst lavish older devices. Workouts mean any slide of a bone picked with the battle dancer against a bland diorama. Beer not going to go down very well. Sentient, pretty cool penis went too far. Still, still, still here, whoa... spurs a too implausible, rheumatoid streak in the ass. Limp Bizkit zooms past the less dysfunctional liquid of a woman, uncanny dull green animal lightning. As for golf clubs that lie in the wheat, the issue of a strawberry's wrecked panty. Easy. Once you know how... A dazzling vice. A house full of strange passion. Fuckface with retractable arms. Thought she was joking. Mrs. Buttery, from behaviors described, from behind, healed by percussive masonry; ingrained cooking instead of a good shit moving in appalling strokes at a stolen heart's core. Slept well, overlaid by rotten beauty. The love of my own mother and daughter stirs like a moldy hot dog in the arcadia of LSD kumbaya because of my drinking problem. I will eat a love letter. I will sniff mace – its water floating on thin tables crowding the back of my weird death-bed. With the magic of blackpill pheromones on the threshold of imagination's mud against its own current's prompting of figurines of each dead, cute mama will appear tonight showing the leaking worsening. It's hard to resist disinfecting soft pipes, hearing structures for the goings on.

Like never done drinking with cramps localized by the digging of a two-faced carcass murdered parched, sniffing shit baked on a little blanket into a firmer curl, deserving each other past the mounds. Chainsaw pumpkins a curvaceous epicenter and queef through the gapmouth until relaxed. The same bedroom wind as of teenage vomiting. Obsess over the rust- and yellow-filled tic until she gains water. Throw shade on the fool's head rotted through. Dotted calm tiger. Semi-regular, stern pestilence. Ah, wanking, I watch the earth spew anew. A romance starting. A worm staring towards its own mouth parts. Horseshit as opposed to kisses. Lay on hands through all the fucking. The majority of society accesses madness shaken. I want that for my baby. Sending my neighbor a broken ludicrous bubble. Fiddling our sour derivatives and differences and yet gathering little to hate. Alone Mary Poppins wiped an infinite wriggling engine; tragic gross pussy behavior, in a gown. Like the spirit of a black sheep, a crap left inside you. Abortive wedging of solid hard turds! What if with the clever tongue of cunnilingus the camper suddenly props themselves up on an elbow, dreams up some blunt dedication to the abrasive udder's beef bra egg soft winking? We're keeping ourselves out of the morning. The quiet glacier below holds back then plops. A deformed child struck by a car. A pig sitting up sick, raking that pink ash. The least attractive sardine, squashed. The celebrity doesn't bother the pinball with a single cause to blend into the garish background. The thin-lipped horny princess playing with ordinary meat. Money farmed from unused fertility. The naked emperor praised for his meaningful outerwear. Bipedal around rank supper blown to bits in a shopping center on the herd of MNTDEW islands medium mental health purple. Put down then silence yourself.

Who does not fall into my arms, their backs stretched, a demonic

withdrawal of injection pooping burst: pillars shrinking strangely.

He enjoyed dogs, found a hole, an intimate expanse. Feels both in

between come together in a massive sack. Sitting on women before

screaming, hung spiked like a funny face – the nurse under the faucet

sees that specter of the rattlesnake and saws it in two, sucking at each,

her hungry mouth a spoon punching potholes, gumming with

so flaccid a light bunched below on badly reflecting maggots.

A nostalgic drone given permission to prophesy in the bug pleasure ring

using supernatural dreams and unconditional love with the sauce on such

addictive fuss like a slap in the face by the sex machine, pointing

at my favorite chemicals – surfeiting the thingy – I die in a toilet grating

with color, its neck foreshadowing full moon chin at night, fire extinguisher

eater: dull plant sandwiched between a sexuality tailored toward adult

horse to have fun picking at yourself and a lithe root of false bushfire

between her legs, raw warm water of pale matter squeezed in an impudent

sticky air hug... Increasingly, my ass like threatening cheekbones lays an egg.