Old chickenassed little hoochie ma, baby-mama.
I brook so that I brook to broach the Koopa film ranch and free the chickadee from the evil turtle, and I further wot, it means indeed, I am, upon all receipts, a good man, in the final analysis.
In the further adventures, there are other things, like sitting in the food stamp office for FIVE HOURS with some screaming kids, and Peach pregnant with another little dependent. "It's gas station chili dogs for you, love" I tell her, and she's got that stupid gleam. I can't tell if its anti-depressants or middle aged love.
I dare, but for the grace of God, to storm that impervious citadel.
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