If I were right, the night that passed before I ate that great helping of hamburger helper without the hamburger is larger than the day when my parents may or may not have given their approval towards weening hours words or dirges meant for a respective lot coddling each sodden ploy to get more play at the station
The bid on my thin lipped bride from Russia is such a drag. She just might leave butts outside on the porch or torch the place with her lighter. Why her legs beg attention and mention her homeland, it tends to wind or wax a bit snippy. If any real women can bring a few new ideas to how these girls are ensconced in some imaginary world of childish desire for freedom, a big mac or lack of extreme temperatures, then all of her strife might just become less after I buy the third and final bride. I say keep the mistakes and this cake I've always thought might be better than the six years I've frittered and wasted on pasties, strippers and lately, twinkies, and download some real girls. Photographs or otherwise, I want em free.
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