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Boogerless noses, pointy point chin faces. Ankle-wrapping toenails make crutches lean. Hairy eyeballs dripping tree sap spies. Get off that porch! Roll over here lumpless hound. Nobody wants to be body hatch. But then without a hearing, elbow droop. Bleep. Flip it over if you wanna see the front. Then dry the bulb till it’s warm. Them tiny things eat too much for places to share. “Block!” she says woefully, “Block! Block the whale!” Grass don’t grow on the wreath, man.

Oh, blibbity blibbity. Neck up! Nelson. Wilson? Nah, only on the stump. Well then get your feet off my feet, snorky. Warm it up for the morrow. Drink and win. Go on, get, boy. Sniff ya later bones blibbity. Need a cut, that’s what, yester’s living. Money is said, sun’s dead, for now.

Sounds crack the women, fickle littles, and no-tooths. This aint no fun anymore. Antennae are the spike of life, gargoyle. Gnome sunk to the core core. So bounding the elastic is planned, flibble. But the droop sag gets off the wheel when time lets it. Cha-ching! Palm’s leaking the machine bunk. It was in the middle before it was in the middle, lump.

Grungy, grungy flood pebbles wake me up and let them sleep. Dream don’t need the nod for the inertia. That’s an energy thing, when you really consider the falsehood. Are you gonna get off the porch swinger now? No mind, people find you funny, don’t you? Hey, I could use that cheese wiz now, til they bite me over again. Stinkin stink! That’s what they’d do when the moon stopped over, by Charlie aint joining us today. We can wait again for the pound bugs.

Curled up rotten burnt pages of coal are tasting well about now, when the air is moving nicely along the ridge. Good to have the tummy stretch to the tune, and play it off like nobody else can. See, the grunge friend left in the night. That’s why nevers can happen again and again. That’s friend for it. Purple and blue their color wheel. Don’t touch it, girly? You want to grow, don’t you? Thought! Yeah, Bibbins got that way in the creek bed before, Bibbins flopped to be one, too. Yep.

Told you ‘bout the no-tooths. Listened for the big wind in the channel, but them gums hardened again. Still use ‘em that way. Messy though, with that crackly crackin. Oh, the snickles. The tree snickles. Best with the blank gut, or the chuckles force the spew. No harm but that, and rib scrunchin, and lipping under, don’t forget. You’ll sled the stench in it fine.

Outside the inn collected pawndups today and when. Can know the history if the pawndowns are, also. They haven’t had fur for decades of snowplows and petals, but hey, you knew that already, link. When over, it’ll be under the pit at noon, then we all have locations nailed down. I didn’t hear about that. Gank! Clouds must have cooked open, then. Blibbity. ~tdv