It's storytime, Richard.

It's storytime, Richard. We're ready, Richard. Times have changed, Richard. Are you still aching from all the sitting during the half time garage light superbowl show? Used to be my favorite and least expected imposition, now it's kind of making its way to floor eleven, where the children seek to.... mMmM-ELIMINATED! Or...once in a while THAT pain Richard gets in his lower back some nights. I can't vouch. Word on the street says it's not only legit, but the neck boil produces REAL pus. Not going to contest the weepers. There's already been enough emotion running through the bottle scrapers; I'll leave this up to the del Homme judges and they'll decide which electrode to denounce and which check to elevate to legendary status come Threevember. Over and out, church bells have sounded - you know that means we've gone too late - and - I'm overdue for stellar fungo practice. Isthmus backed in turmoil.

Eyes from high towers see both sides approaching; run and hide.

Taciturn bed rest monikers are finally making a comeback. They'd been dormant for a few decades, waiting in the wings for stale cedar shim Julep bumps to crimp upon arrival. We are, however, still waiting on word from the superintendent about the errant claim that all restitution for bobcat grease be run through P.R. queen and self described "Loyalist" , "Xpharma". She apparently has some enemies in the purple pill indusfried. Can't fault them for switching over to the deep fried modalities.

I can't remember if it was one or two bookmarks that signaled Cush entreaties, so I'll default to fomented combinations of weaponry-design cumberland-stromboli witch-cask pumps. K. I think I'm ready for my sponge bath lair chants.

Spinnaker for your desire, old codger

Business is business, volunteered or not. Crustacean woes through geopolitical disaster. Curmudgeon paste notwithstanding, through and through we're largely inculcated with post modern, albeit trust fund vomit inducing rebel hardy tax fraud measures. If one spurns sprung springer sprints, I'm likely to return unabashedly as a thread wolf. (We don't talk about that relative anymore, Theresa Fräulein. Insurance is too high for even her majestic ghazal phenom. Char broiled, lemon nugget grief chips! Abcdefg can't get any easier for the 56 squadron leotard redistribution; hot wire the truth for each acceptable caulk fire. Unless you remove your hand from my thigh, I'm going to scream as if you only received a 5 dollar New york stock exchange gift card for Christmas. Please don't give me any attitude, Chaim. I'm already in debt up to my bandit crust and wool chrome is at an all time low. Bind all the terrace jugglet's - I ain't playin' no MO and thy kingdom will come on Earth as it is in heaven. Turtle shaped pause buttons bring in the new world order as long as you allow the whiteboard prophecies to christen bagel bite CEOS with fervor. 404 error, please invert 45 seconds for a nation.