"rts001" will try anything to draw attention away from the rest of his lumpy, unwashed head.
It's a rotten day for a white wedding.
Flounder Face and Caveman Curtis are not only handsome, but they also provide important clues to the evolution of life on Earth.
Training was complete. Another stuffed foe, this one purple, lay at his feet leaking cotton. His fedora, comic book t-shirt and tenuous beard all flapped slightly in the wind. His stoic contemplation shattered by a cry from another room, "Brian! Close your window, we're not warming the whole block!" "I'm really busy right now, Mom!" She could never understand him. No one could.
"Hello ladies, remember that show Weinerville? Nah, me neither."
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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