I did appreciate that one enterprising lass erected her own computer-TV tribute to my strapping countryman David Beckham.
Some provocateur generated a randy Sapphic portrait that I dare not reproduce, and even now blush to conjure -- would that the riddling effects of age could rob me of that wanton memory, rather than stripping my treasured recollections of halcyon days! Any road, while I found this imagery a bit tawdry, others declared it ace.
Alack, the banter wasn't always so bloody chipper. This poor urchin seems to abide the Dickensian squalor of child-labour camp, though she fancies herself skillful enough with the song and dance to win a role in Oliver!
Hows about you, me, and five uncomfortable minutes in my basement apartment next to the dusty Christmas tree that's still up from my last visit with my estranged children.
The Upper Kitchen Cabinet Where Your Roommate Keeps His Food: You’ll 'need the footstool' to reach your roommate’s 'fine selection' of 'stale cereal,' but he'll never notice if 'only a little is missing from each box.' Feel less guilty by reminding yourself that Jeff 'acts weird around your girlfriend,' and always 'asks about her.' What a 'creep.'
This ain't your daddy's globe...! .... or is it?!
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