 |
Modo atual:  intransitável
11:36 AM
John: did you see that flier? Ryn: jusdid dope what is it made of from? with? John: lava flows and neural networks Ryn: hotthought! John: squeamish demons seem to be leaning toward gleefully screaming out the beliefs of the heathens, released without meaning but loud enough to cause bleeding' Ryn: we win! blood loss clot fiends entice to squeamish to preen their feathers and not believe its meanness that leads this seamstress to stitch the ripped pen15 John: ew! jesus! that's gross, but it's how rumors get spread like i-can't-believe-it's-not-butter, on numerous pieces of toast. a screaming beastie, flying briefly, alerting the people to listen, chiefly. feathers bristle, fellas whistle, and next thing you know facts have been made out of whispers don't trust a gift horse or a greek soldier holding a rusty fork Ryn: or a gifted equestrian force, thrifty mechanical boars, morse code printed on doors of the institute for divorce, justice is blind if the defendant fails to report John: or if his eyes fall out from the blood sport, unsure if the image he's seeing is real or distorted, retinal messages scrambled, aqueous humor tumor a gelatinous rambling mess. i'm looking inside my brain. it's gross, but i digress Ryn: i fly west, incensed that this dense and demented apprentice to the czar of cement is so irreverent in the face of the chaste and penitent John: the pertinent perps went to the penitentiary, sentenced to replenish peasant' s pheasants for centuries liver pecked out each day, repeated adrenal decay while icarus saw flickers hit the lingering light left to him, indignant that indigenous people were left unlit Ryn: so i supplied the lumens to give ocular lift, perceiving light bouncing as intrinsic to the shift. hefting haughty hopscotch-playing hounds after the snitch, break hickory branch and beat 'em with the switch John: the ocular lift created jocular itch, and while the cornea twitched, an octopus bitched that his arms had been twisted, all eight dislocated, and he blamed the squid. but the squid said the whale was his alibi, and when asked why, he said they'd been searching for abalone alimony in palo alto with a tax attorney Ryn: but the facts were squirmy and then some. men blend chum, and churning up the redrum make a burning yet alluring fish drink that you prefer three times out of four to the poorly tended pond scum you mom's served to the battalion by the gallon to make a tightly knit garment phalanx amalgam I shoot basketballs with handguns and1 John: and one? take the foul, the statement howled, while faceless atheists sit patiently and wait with towels. all star baller balthazar barrage crowd enthraller. even nebuccadnezar could never cause me to falter, calling all fathers, collect your fallen daughters before trawlers get them in shallow waters Ryn: hallowed otters hollow oysters, as the boisterous rejoicers rouse choice voices in the cloisters to flow down with poise to hoist her by her own petard as the moist air gets lethargic, hardened sargents tan the hides of varmints caught in transit to the tar pits john, you want a omlette? John: yes please, i take mine western but please don't retrieve the necessary liquid from the cistern, that shit burns, ryn burns, rancid like a gin worm. mescal, best pal, because i think it less foul. unless you have some textiles to filter out the wretched vials of viral bile Ryn: silos of lye all resting on piles of glued wild boars teeth and blue tiles. wait, who's kyle? I didnt invite him to my small child's prebirth day of denial, now rivals beat tribal drums trying to blind yall tried to make a flame woman, ended up with a fire doll John: rectum? damn near killed him with kindness, but no amount of that could remedy the blindness. I find it's best to be optimistic, truthful and timeless to see yourself on cloud 9, inside of the lining Ryn: "my blanket!" called linus, while listening to primus his punch bowl crashed to the ground, ground to a fine dust, crystalline musk, clogs lungs and such, but i am still smoking, so pass that dutch. shake girl! (her ass says "what?") John: that's like the fake radio spot for formula 50 vitamin water "i told her it was nutrient enhanced, yo, she put her booty in my hands" Ryn: less likely than trying NOT to get toothy blowjobs in france John: and they're all 'parlez vous francias?' no, but damn that pooty tang can DANCE John: saying "sadatay" and wearing no pants 2:38 PM
..tr>..table> ..tr>..table> ..tr>..table> ..tr>
|
| ..table>
12:08
Com o suporte de  | | Inglês | | Albanês | | Árabe | | Búlgaro | | Catalão | | Chinês | | Croata | | Tcheco | | Dinamarquês | | Holandês | | Estoniano | | Filipino | | Finlandês | | Francês | | Galego | | Alemão | | Grego | | Hebraico | | Hindi | | Húngaro | | Indonésio | | Italiano | | Japonês | | Coreano | | Letão | | Lituano | | Maltês | | Norueguês | | Polonês | | Português | | Romeno | | Russo | | Sérvio | | Eslovaco | | Esloveno | | Espanhol | | Sueco | | Tailandês | | Turco | | Ucraniano | | Vietnamita |
|