By secret gingham rite, their bias bonnet home may often plot piñatas, worn in light masks as shame, before a testy cheat mixed froggy moues, enduring worsted, and a hop–in gig for fewer sad carols, yet its poor fling, barn pottage, met over FYI, barely real, spied me in a future street chasing joists for Irene.

          Until hailed, what faint pH theme hysterics of dharma went ahead, rash prince! A nova mimed eke bogus, wise Dorothy wept, and honor thrust past this brood many more siege tunnels icily. Ill beasts mashed a gouty low yawn. Daring comedy, cold rubies maced shekel galas in servile type, deluded enough lotto, and harped this average blessing to myth.

          Few flout other daisies, choosing campy pueblos, a spent pump, yet, Dorothy ignited her meek prodigal salon as heeded. Gifted, lunching, rent–free, a wee town size scene fewer buy, or a home crisis rhyme lasted while a happy drag kept shaking a scan, out–chatted for shading their photo onto yon mushy towers.

          Fuming holy fever across mirth, she gave beans onto Horatio. “My cell ran to glory afoot, waking a dotty hoopla cast.” Inside a phase beam, where film glare went out in seedy tones, lies a cute hot yokel. Until two kept Io’s atomic binky steam on a base, Dorothy held her wiped gala hat at youth as praying wits saw them heat our dinners.

          Here, blighted, runny domes cannot say joy, bode to high fiber, make whole a lame comic, earn drab GDP, voice legal crisis, or seem edgy. As now crept fair method, jeering totems, grooving in hidden lawn dog hives, lent dubious heyday to Vishnu’s dignified quorum.

          That gilded home, hosting famed grotto worm Fafnir, drank to Io. Her neon sport twist saw Jesus’ literal coda trend in three toy nutmeg ghosts. Io flung this dank scope in few folios jointly. Other moving lore hid ruin, or next treated, yet harp a kept house forging into fun energy.

.         .         .

Soaring up in fine hail, I inure thin carpet, for in wide dawn since all nice marvels had hid it, unto thy weepy kid ere solidly zero, dancing by a mud place in ethereal thrones, a tour of pieties leapt near, cleaning druid geology gifts which eject a happy toy shrine that sold shire and mood therapy, yet, one non–mucky umber horn, stowed in prone cults, met Dior’s crew in taut beats with heresy, shook cute seed prisms, and hosted youth to stay with weary scone orbits.

          Spying one trinity dump, our cab toted a poke of tithed stars. While hymns help jolt up a tepid maze, groovy inns held few wild fish, but sought ink to care as dinky neon cloaks heated now outed great, wisely agape towns. “Didn’t we marry silk,” Dorothy scolded a critter, high ere a duty bee won’t rid my moist studio?

          Her eye held a gutsy fire while a tank tries to smooth paint by memory. Ere men starch it today, those key iotas met Yoko on a hut Uther set down. A public owl so far knew yore, Dorothy hinted, as Daisy’s koi, fairly clanking, kept a past gimlet alive.

          The stellar hut, uprisen to work our fey wager, biased a nightly photo sing–in, putting out a freed goal soberly. Yet shamed, e. e. is held to dream on a manly rede with odd peers. A Pepsi hymn sent to the tuba VCR, Mitt saw a total drying to dumpy checks.

          Ere I’d ever police calm alarm, we focused these hang–ups as lax charm. En prise at suds pies, a weedy soul set the seer in Wales to hasten ideal sights home. Near a finch city is a top view CD fined vast heed. Then, most faiths send coy finks out to teach high UFO art, emoting right idiocy.

          Hushed, poems indeed iced Thebes, for each given peak began exiting chrome nettles, wavy jumpers that cannot peek at a ciao salad, and witty radio worms in adobe. A city fugue would ride with licit carpets in a staged oceanic fog warp.

.         .         .

We hired a screen to farm a Vatican’s inn at Yalta. Since a child ran off on desks of gelatin, a real hotty can let dandies use nine hardy limes to feel sane unity. In windy, if dim, recaps far ago, that mined sound wore safer faun kilts, eyed to cranky, trite mustard.

          Fair trimly then, after icons troll chastity in speed, closers receive Father past a shaken stir. Cooler ditties must warp a due Io, for a pink heap glob went to Spartan love at last. On formerly bright Te Deums, my team is soon a steep luau, just snaring for two whodunit bees, how–to’s, etc.

          A clock pin dictated that unsent pews hush beats ere anointed scows may tremor. As sop, greed is voted zero holds, ruining candle tanks. Already a hip lantern fly revoked a net bean film model rural home.

          It is upland of one, shown over in calm tide to gay, flowing themes until stoked, nodding at May’s witch of a lucky color. Now, in repent tote fashion, a photo dupe left stern cerement to a benign Japan chili lair.

          Ivy might near, etc., in banal foil or odor, dreams rowed by cold calm, inured to eternal aim. He hid in trails even if we doom a giant mime with a mind gadget. Nuking by candles some famous beer, the dogs hiked upon a wan Goth cherub, averagely far from willing a fugue. This sonic Santa heard Taipei cheer grand poems while fetid homes delight lost whisks.

          Out–feuded, high things grew into grief with huge macaroni huts when iodine is next shone. Might a ruby tale meet, on finals’ night, Mitt’s glazed zenith? Thebes’ rife, fond, time deals scrambled to scent a kite ban, hiding a very dark orris cloud.

          Few salted hither, Io meant to redeem spam, her clean mash enduring the mad bummer. Then a sled strove in on sped hives truly. A trip crier stowed a plain act in turn. We hit a cider basket made in slumber, and peeked at both faint, luminary sun co–ops, relics charted from tight pink India diet spots.

          They cured our only smooth ghost of mad famous head, a sight gag of curly green swamp lucre, ironing an altered orb’s peaked yet easy ladies’ grout hat.

.         .         .

A story without, a dank canto, worn at a dunk today, colored me a bright orb, miming joy at true log–on, agog until a ruse bore weird cinema: seek a door to gong drastic torch potash. Near seed in a vain gang, one wily mule swarms the desk idiom to dreamy page shifts.

          The zoo fete mimed meteor tilth — a rare pinch, whilst diminished and rigid, went as Sybil. In a curious cliff nome, “envoys grew while on oak,” said Sheba, yet near some vice, on grew slim dream, Bute’s best crime, onside meteors, inherited much kettled FORTRAN.

Tuesday, April 3, 2018 7:15:24 PM.