sitegoauide for pietje precies pun dotery, submitted by Michel. I have absolutely no idea how to describe this, and even if I did, I would get sued for using them. This site is like a rainbow enema plastered across a chunk of asphalt. I have no idea what its purpose is, why it exists, or how many jugs of moonshine the author ingested before writing it.
So this flex-twist-tensilarating-squeeze and pump-kin kind of thing ---- lends sighnz of life's cycling and breath wrested from death's cling ---- as minute traces ---- to thus mobilized marble's smile cracking and mud washed off its shine tracking faces, ---- it grits, frits and spins life from rocks, wittingly recycling and breaking up the relatively collective same ---- into the more individual and minute momentae of a multigeared game ---- which speeds naked inertia's pent up clocks on a return to spirited nonracist, asexist and intimate contact without shame. (note: I believe voluntary racisms and dominisms are nothing but natural and unavoidable hyrarchies as in same but different stages between terrestr- and celestial rock specks dustballs and everyting in between. Down here the biggest crumblers, classifyers and size reducers are the least scrupleless of unfair dealing though;good thing we remain so close to the dumbnumbness of inertia or else we would suffer . . . .or no, we would not suffer the children.... . . .. . )
Yeah, what he said. This site simply boogles my mind, and every time I try to even thing about it, my brain shuts down and tries to escape from my nasal cavity. Oh well, if you don't like the link, just sue me.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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