SUPPOSE PROFESSOR: What are you doing? CAPTAIN
ABSURD: Mira King, what I do is look groin: is as big as you think?
PF: Indeed. What do you do?
CA: To be the Empress that plagues all Sarasa, which porculiza the blogosphere with his criticism of slut, and I hope not to be Mae West, but most female fox penis has ever created! .. . Oh, I like your crotch.
PF: Well, you have not seen the tattoo that I have under the navel. Did you read corrupt head of both blog?
CA: If anyone believes that I think swallowing the overalls goes ass ... whatever they say size does matter ...
PF: Except in my case.
CA: Except in your case king. And I would not be an empress with his head as empty as a Vogue magazine article, however it is with Hawaiian fashion in the middle of November.
PF: What are you going to criticize, really?
CA: Oh, so hard you baby: is not going to rape me or something?
PF: I do not like fags.
CA: Oh how rude you are: you have it as hard as Charles Bronson? Well, anyway, that distracted me with that torso to the Paul Newman you spend baby. Well, I will criticize what I get out of the tip: posts, comments, and shit like that: more controversy for the empress! For fools will tell me that if they do not know, if I have not read the blog, if you would like to frolic in my bed to fulfill their dreams bi. Do you understand?
PF: No, I told you I do not like fags. And I have to put some sanity to this shit you're doing.
CA: I get when I talk like that.
PF: The tip of my boot is also set when you're a foot away from me.
CA: Rape and while I paint my nails and listen to Abba songs!
PF: Shit.
CA: Shit?
PF: The tattoo on my belly wants to give the hosts.
CA: Let's write about it! You know, baby, your tattoo biting my mouth, playful bloggers looking at what you do not find in their rooms (but without leaving their homes, it is not going to find is so good that not panic unless matched ), wanting to convert to me like that novel by Boris Vian, readers looking for lewd and bait cowards, who have no sense of humor looking head cut off (the foreskin), and everything to promote all those wanting their miserable fifteen minutes of fame.
PF: I already said Andy.
CA: Andy and Lucas? Are those little shit fuckers of music are able to say something intelligent?
PF: Andy Warhol, that fucker would you ass like a cave lithographic why you would come to seek God, silly balls.
CA: I get excited when you correct me flat, almost as much as listen to that song Burning.
PF: Faggot fatal, always with problems.
CA: Calla bastard ... the music up (and me up), and when the music plays, the show must start ...
ABSURD: Mira King, what I do is look groin: is as big as you think?
PF: Indeed. What do you do?
CA: To be the Empress that plagues all Sarasa, which porculiza the blogosphere with his criticism of slut, and I hope not to be Mae West, but most female fox penis has ever created! .. . Oh, I like your crotch.
PF: Well, you have not seen the tattoo that I have under the navel. Did you read corrupt head of both blog?
CA: If anyone believes that I think swallowing the overalls goes ass ... whatever they say size does matter ...
PF: Except in my case.
CA: Except in your case king. And I would not be an empress with his head as empty as a Vogue magazine article, however it is with Hawaiian fashion in the middle of November.
PF: What are you going to criticize, really?
CA: Oh, so hard you baby: is not going to rape me or something?
PF: I do not like fags.
CA: Oh how rude you are: you have it as hard as Charles Bronson? Well, anyway, that distracted me with that torso to the Paul Newman you spend baby. Well, I will criticize what I get out of the tip: posts, comments, and shit like that: more controversy for the empress! For fools will tell me that if they do not know, if I have not read the blog, if you would like to frolic in my bed to fulfill their dreams bi. Do you understand?
PF: No, I told you I do not like fags. And I have to put some sanity to this shit you're doing.
CA: I get when I talk like that.
PF: The tip of my boot is also set when you're a foot away from me.
CA: Rape and while I paint my nails and listen to Abba songs!
PF: Shit.
CA: Shit?
PF: The tattoo on my belly wants to give the hosts.
CA: Let's write about it! You know, baby, your tattoo biting my mouth, playful bloggers looking at what you do not find in their rooms (but without leaving their homes, it is not going to find is so good that not panic unless matched ), wanting to convert to me like that novel by Boris Vian, readers looking for lewd and bait cowards, who have no sense of humor looking head cut off (the foreskin), and everything to promote all those wanting their miserable fifteen minutes of fame.
PF: I already said Andy.
CA: Andy and Lucas? Are those little shit fuckers of music are able to say something intelligent?
PF: Andy Warhol, that fucker would you ass like a cave lithographic why you would come to seek God, silly balls.
CA: I get excited when you correct me flat, almost as much as listen to that song Burning.
PF: Faggot fatal, always with problems.
CA: Calla bastard ... the music up (and me up), and when the music plays, the show must start ...
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