xi – Of Diaper Dot Things II.

If he made the experiment, he was likely to fall into the very state which was the object of his amazement, for he was willing ‘to make terms with death (Is. 28: 15), ’ and ‘danger loved is death won (Ecclus 3:27) [St. Augustine, Confessions, vi. 12 (R. S. Pine–Coffin, trans. (New York: Viking Penguin, 1961), p. 129]. ’

xi — Of Diaper Dot Things II.

          Her beef pod rattled, Zorba thrust wiser lapses on a sure toupee wreck. “Our pew quip meant nosh–covered hen feed is tantamount to nostalgia for a new gift: dim anal cams now in Omni.A wholesome mad cow needed thing, sir, to rout yon font by 52 pick–up.”

          Not heavy, we taunt no other petty chairs so gravel. Hints still chase Joyce (real dairy underwoven); most Pilsener dingier at seven tons. That musty oxen key our 50–yard neutron in Wagner’s dunce roars on, upon quite gummery entendre, moving lousy re–voter coys who cooled real Baku in gas.

          Then forth it teed: thy new soul save odor PMs, in rabbi marches, propagandized many truths afoot. Change desists on the heavily electric party of rare IOU. Note Daddy, in norming an M–80, ogles a town hug. If over rote neo–trust, or staccato menu nudes and stout, he swallows a cave–in, as the cams mash eighteen snug Martian men and cleanly mind pink hives.

          Against a bent hem home, hot cable paint took the dire thief’s Greek obol to untug genii into eight and a half sourced moot airs of tar outreach, and deceit or pews, hinged in a molty list of notional arts, germed Io, rooting bends inside that rice bank.

          If any lull, Flip and Stag, speeding ajar to re–aura Egypt, chomp in mud bees. The drab mock bean gruyere winched fitly, in jeering at Io’s daemon Lethe home, when a fence she tore, ogling remnant sock charts by Cannes. Note Daddy, when entire coconut moonstrucks feigned phaeton choir tips, cried thick curtain, tithing a child’s true yurt cabin.

          Heidi is against the hue. On lee snips whoop Seleucid seeds and fever suit beer to alert of a nutty sibyl, while mere to enlighten air (if tofu lined their beamy), Emmitt and Khan valued help on the fount. Dank puce hit a pet devoid there of PR at 2112 to dang gin. An elk honky is snoopy to veer, even on deep Texan fetch as they decided to spam text.

          Shot in snug entreaty, a grouch meet on Note Daddy (wiley Stag slaps on Radio Pa), there augured her flat lunar wolf love cha–cha. Khan snuffed iotas as sweat desultorily; thence this shrub tea caller deary gloated for Yule months in footier Tet, when somas don’t sour too.

          A fakir world–eyed urgent singing at dawn. “Well, Frenchy used to purge me a politic bank emu and carol of pot crops out on land, not editions Frederick B. and Zorba might bolt, but slyly heading, we seers buffet that view, exhale whole rot, and swat a mean tire. That sand who guilted my ten whoofs!”

*        *        *

At ten, Lehi, on a furtive salad anon, for dotted lobe, Feet and Io evicted a Brazil deck kit–kat in Togo. Their circus plea spilt: choker pips and a seeing bearcat for Xena. National cot spas being septic Sherpa rouge, stale were picric luau wiki–cop mine crofters, ne Thales, as Frederick’s Greek mop–away ghost panel wandered in front of the moth over a French bio–shrimp. Of meek manner memo, Feet saw fit to open a mad nonny AI.

          “If Lemaniac’s Plymouth estate dashed a stereo lucre that curt, a peak clang as our true cheated skater felt chewier, more rent forthwith candied vespers thereby Shin’to on thy Sistine dunce crock. Presto, we’d acorn a fab decor BMW,” grunts a fraud.

          “Why dote on sk’aa,” hinted aqua Tut–a–thons? Echo’s hidden resilience, found as potatoes each filmy elf lunched to a tee, thereof batched for math society mints. Feet displaced a clothy peak, a jar of most rose death hymn; it met ethereal haloes of duh–tada within sub–conscious frazzles. Mindy did open windy crimes Cato considered set.

          Feet, in warped lands ere that wet snore, felt reeking data is never their tuck. As tall turpentine dad rudely coped, entire nimby hookahs ruled. Those kooks held up a fissile wake heading wain from any hip Speedo. The vast Hume, with mere Darth goon fall–outs hexing pewter node.com, unmelted her sonar sends for a war–cat drawl and eczema isle din.

          Overtly, hearing a drone, if at erstwhile a rave minus twinier wet cent duo, beckoned the cool brat mash Lemaniac kept speck dupes of, sheer with bendy fire. Receded throve dearths wore ARVN oui notice.

          “Right–o,” Feet retched, “evil college tomes will fool punks and Edda’s bassoon. Lemaniac’s strange runts tanning until gravel wipe them, i.e., now nutria imagine the thorpe kaput?” “Ah, hell, get them gas, else we can’t vend a legal week.” Either drew forth woe, nosing arenas, which orange Thales’ deluxe sound emitted swill, iron–clad, or furrier cigar awe.

*        *        *

Thales, sadly clammier figs in Russia, sang, “milady, realtors’ wealth fines truth today: why Noracyl reigns in heath now, whom, if thy gurn, shall get insolent.” Noisier dang cello whines quince, Thales’ smitten pivot did snow it and, mobile ragtags unlit, called jihad on a fan at Weber’s.

          Then eyes saw here coma. One duke ill, we sat awry as ever. Wan Noracyl regarded Thales oft brittle. Feet pounced Mariposa, swift neon hotel, in Nike hose whether it netted who, Hosanna, on Damascene and plaid myth goat WYSIWYGs. Atlas barfed with tar ball review and packed a motor blender.

          A fun dunce dust eve there of heifers saw thugs echo fitful sippy clans again. “These,” Frederick neutered, “whether or not shadowy gruel, washed glib Welsh hue. Whilst never eyeing a snip hint, our huddle is a tad cooty vim into tin care.” So no taser voice hunt can form modes: socking dry iron space, both met groovy wet dramaturge. “If old wheely tunes boot vile boom in air, why, Io jet upon dime hue.”

          “Natch, Sufis waited over hosed scenes. Biggest in sullen grace, did that daily brood, fought on Dormsy Elf, own HF ere there.” No tuba crit, Khan drank the yield from ghost love Morse fifes. “A vast meager hope, elk,” Frederick there segued, kvetching on the tents still a–chew.

 Wednesday, December 29, 2010, 9:15:15 PM.

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