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ham on rye manwich . The darkness that was enveloping his life had become so suffocating that he decided to run a personal ad for his future wife in the Mobileread flea market. She cost him two iPads and a sheep But hey that's cheap The sheep's name was oops that cocked it . We were all drunk. The aroma of scotch fell sweetly upon us rich, sweet and smokey . It was a good , too good in fact , day to be not night or even dark inside the igloo of the igloo inhabiting monster who looked a lot like a hairy chook that took a rook and smashed his own(hey I should be working!) ends and then the giant from the bush administration came out shouting ai ee ya ya Then they died off , or so everyone thought but there was nasty ,nasty boys, dont mean what they say when they whisper in your biscuit tin. However, a good strong smack from nursie will pull them back into the place they were before. "Shit!", fell outta yoga shorts. I must do some more butt squats before[butt squat a yoga move???] more lumps appear on(I dunno
I am only a learner) the back end of my high heeled boots.
Meanwhile, in Dingly Dell a small cry was never heard. The calmness remained and nothing happened . This was a boring way to end it . But wait, an exciting new way to die became apparent in his mind's eye. The final solution was only a slow uncomfortable sip away. She passed him a final look, smiled and forced the poison down the poor bastard's throat. His mind began to slowly escape his desire to throttle her. So he honked her boob. Then he died miserably from the poison, not Miserably, but very happy. She bent over and from behind she felt something odd, something unusual. Two hands choking the living daylights out of chicken that flew south.