Sometimes it's impotent to verify your e-reader when going out with friends for the night, as in drinks and other forms of youthful conduction, the kind that will get you hurt or maligned by ears and leaf, with some changes not yet but ought to be over with when the feasts came, test scores were in, and tinsel frowns lending themselves to good home-buying practices cut the feeble chords, ad agencies, filth, and meted out the trip to a slender pot of calcium powder, harangued with angry puff-puff faces, places eerily stinking of old cotton was-his-name-oh, and bland-ful gentries, hinting at lending institutions, pontoons, and schools, the veritable "places next" on the cruddy morning after the miniseries had ebbed and we were all in it together, courting a board game that pm, just in case the reruns had too many dads in them, one too many shock-n-awe types, a hip logo leaning betterment, maybe an icicle as well, eighty three, eighty four, eighty five, and double-L pants parting their beige pattern play: I'm in the 90's now!
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