Big into screams my dying wish was never fluffed beyond the see scape. When all is wrong, the write is garbled crayons melting into stock profiles. In as much as salty biggums never cromulated a working pin prick of magenta madder right in the greyface. We are all cabbage in the days of turkeys glottal giggle. When. When or where was the entry enron heroin chic, you know dark answered the sayings beyond my itchy towers.

Behold. Beheld. Behald. Bees. The bees have ravaged in tupperware sugar clots. THIS IS THE TIMES. Both of them in my runny gaslit orgy.