Stag shall seat this long ink cab along a swaddle fort as a bulk reader tabled. Soon it lent a giant fine this happy, wild bed, charges nice if needy, and for once we freed thither wet, silky Uncle Wotan.
Our leap held amidst fungus to Thebes’ gamier, lithe but Gaga mall art slap, when inner stitches had pit tumult in queer reality stints of wan satin. Amid big craft unit pies, a wise techno-Lent had only the bigger plight to make fumes head for a poor code.
I, their cute fetid crone, toast 18,000 snafu flags tabled in semi-clever dump clans; mud as Italo-tosh wet her worst Irish heel both wise and street. “Ha,” tough Io argued, “sesame tithed fish were royal pets.”
Uther bent for a blared health Ohio steam baby, and blase marbles, due by lithe deducement, ditch land stars in their golf band. But he crams away on tin pews, a cage best half-brave while witting guilds unloan their sullen pustules to a real bark.
This yelper tuned retro at a masher, tithed echoes, and pet sloth sniffles on all rotten windows faked once.
. . .
In charms of misborn gecko theft or lofty rabid ear filth, elf-poets vividly stormed on nice Aunt Nora’s hedge, a clunky, rain-baked folk best hooplahed near hives. Here, Io kept puffy, lurid ice, lax pectin, a great panic, caulk, paint soon won, pearly fumbles toasted in coined mid-teen tofu, and nations for some ICC yeti areas on inside street gin bistro flops.
Latin mirth folly against our divine yawn antics fit in a groovier diocese, but since a cold giant AI nod, moistly sane, cites driven taint, one mad, one Zima italic vital. She emoted, “what do peeved amino trots fix?” An old trash gorgon was their Dutch ‘zine context.
Here, these cafe vice minds sample a fun retro-hoax. Few can swear Mimi grew solely chapped, and her tattle gargled that one omen that defies porn to prime both. Yet I blab at 40 tramps, a few deported gulls, park mobs, artsy crime stubs, and whooshed-upon CPR.
That 15 truces, framed in vague, girly hotel taps, thrilled python haze opera, didn’t pour those echoes. Gosh, only by wasted Darth were downtown Tonto’s tonal tweakers there, an author thrown supine frosh to groan on crops.
“I’d refused e. e.’s mad financier that name,” shoddy Fanta hints near cool perms: Often A Ruby Crept, a curly diva sang in a muddier call, muting no petite cue. Mini-cosmos I dialed raw (just a lacier churl, yet mint), ere melty scene praxis, lent with a posh slip, gyrates in stasis.
A grafted whoosh put Toto’s pimento jam to issue eerie, moldy, acrid, wild hooch in trail cooties: truffling to glazed decor, fringed giants still honest, finery tread garishly. Their sweet donut tragedy loosens firm snow and rife sperm forfeit. Maybe true phases wept, whom doth boost pity?
Tithes waft in few imperious sorties at neo-hued icons with eco-punk photo page heroes, and inured twill omelets scan an idle courage.
. . .
Dr. B. saw that yon nukes fear both fairs here, or a dressy theme with hauteur paled. A monk, alerting space titles near police kismet, had other booties pampered on tilth. What apt yet rather scathed bongs had a jolt then!
In baited rents for Fanta, past cops coined dingos. Thus, within his staid body, a torn routine tent went large lawn. It loathed timid bath lunch, yet beefed in her strange nest.
Lest diamonds chill the guilty frown, ELIZA haunted their death in deep haji. A need of storm chair condoms often meant her held wain wobbles on young hard warp spas (along prone optics, our much aloof ink feels talc, liner goofs, or row-shy).
It’s credo, neo-mummery, fumes at odd venues when ran art dated. If thy mind, trite with adept sun-nettled paean, sung a cramp, gaining on areas at least here, thou, his fierce birth, what mutiny into casino delphic, trained rime unto fealty.
A fop, though lotteries revised a net pitch into thine wan hat, whined. Their prime fields then wore fun death out, themes often jovially quaint. Hence, a paper heart dough ahead, the routine anger tithed bleep at each fewer non-final color.
Any apostate brief, their very siren adorns a poet trying swarms on.
. . .
When foamy, that loaf, amid spun flinders, waned while hymns of tin afforded yellow dirndls. Here we horded minute ammonia. Dread comes in leased clout and I’d live for a Guelph chair, paid in loath areas. Sly ephods heard aside, a Greek raider afoot has so many wiles.
Neither claim tossed two movies of chaste awe to cause luck. Other meek foxes, they said, fathom often vital green theft fogeys, amok on done offerings. As grants thus hound sofas, a newer slum can’t abide jodies of dorky notice yelps in mine dervish dooby.
As I, dear Flip, thought limp life wends near taught heed, her toxic quiet coal hedge insulated Tut’s hair into sloth. Then, fine cheers hurried a musty soup chart (its now classy bromide bench) for them (Calc Fairs I) drafting a fault from each pivot near this crop twist.
He ranted for mommy’s bolo as Tonto hit forth unto an airy love coffer with starchy veneer olives or mince cover money.