Imagine being so dull and drab that you steal your grandma’s helicopterand fly it into a cave that turns out to be your own esophagus. The will-o’-the-wisp could not lead you astray but called you fat instead. Notice that if I put the word “clown” in quotes, it no longer smells like smoked cheese or hickory. “All options are on the table" when it comes to the agony of a chicken/moth hybrid that did not want to be born flailing on a table. The small toy helicopters patrolling the halo are apparently sensory organs that help the Messiah locate food. I can take vigorously flung garden cress leaves to the head without even flinching. Do you at least have the decency to purchase an ethereal chastity crystal that will prevent you from sodomizing my rhododendrons? TFW your crowdfunded self-mummification failed to reach its goal but you’re still plum out of bodily fluids and reek of lacquer. God damn it! If it doesn’t turn into the ghost of a small carp at the base of your throat, then don’t call it Riesling. See, a merry-go-round turns clockwise, whereas on a carousel, a horse retains the colors of the dead nudibranch that now possesses it. A small flour sack tied to one wing will prevent your Norfolk turkey from reselling automotive parts without a license. #farmingtips If bae’s form grotesquely telescopes and grazes the ceiling, why then, bae’s clothes will increase in size proportionately, for such is bae. Anesthetizing random people and sewing their feet together is wrong but my Cocker Spaniel didn’t know any better.
