The proaction and subscription left one bereft with a set of peat and plotting oil makeovers. I couldn't spry a day without clearing out a good many left, and we all knew what that meant when the spirit of gibing was dampened by lovers and jeers. Although it must me / be / re. staid, the holidays ad complaining heft a clarity unlike most; sugars, Lugar sidearms, boogers, belugas, Stuttgart's, and Stewarts (fine border-hitter lash stations) -- these prayed when the icy menace of white lurches came-to, and when the umbrage yards were no longer cable-worthy (let alone a hat elite lisp), and furthermore, when the noblest of bashfulness reveled in the entrancing gape, yelp reviews, sassy grass-shirted assholes, the hole-tuck and rucksack rum gentry, pollock-splats and booth-maddened convention-types, lyres equipped in mattress so as to subdue the battery of cumulo-numbing cloy-cheeks, shaving a sheen a bit too close, as well as well could pee, the tasteless rustle of tassel-wearers from grottos and hutch-pekid lairs arrived, surfaces poked like mossy whiskered nostrils dashing through the S / no (and M) / ow, and FINALLY, and AND worth its mettle.
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