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The juices, oh pear farts rambling,,,, everyone stares at my belly... oh my good grand dickle powder. Hapless and chapless sticks of robes and forget-me-nots.
We all cry in our sleep sometimes like bridges of morrison hotep
Cook the little piece of flesh off yer brain that makes the weeping willows shut there mouth traps in pitfall mode off the flips forever, or at least until the dildo shipment hits San Antonio.
Grasp my paw and kiss my mother on the mouth,
We are finally home for a spelling bee hive
5:01 AM
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