to the slim

Introducing my best team. I've ever had, starts with M-sim. But I guess its dead when the bunch of fatguys are playing the set of postgospel in advance of having a chat with a true Roswell. Why net. I'm looking forward to see you, M-sim, in the beams of gimming the mic-sync. After the solo that  moisterpolo the witnesses of your true long spirit, fancy spiriting the wounds of our fathers, but I guess its as long to upgo as to ruin another attack we could commit together, its cuming leather and leather and nothing about it but a but-word, you dreeem you having a sword.

Its easy, you know, to have a bricking in between the downlicking till morning sunshine, hope to see you with shamshire (and you definetly and fonetically have one, as long as one and a half palm, but bent like a farm type of farming a swallow), wish to borrow your cutie for resetting the sorrow and puke it on the net, even I bet i'll have only the dwarves at my side (if we put aside the mystery of a crushing type blistery covered with beards). So stwach to an ear that your dear could end up on mine, digging off what I spear, if you won't having a time with pleeeesing me, you know, with a shine.

Off your balls with my mouth, you love my mammas mouse much more that I like hours of counting till sleepy cunts of  Gatling, its better you cut it out with the fatling and fatling and Fatling, my, I think you will grow to the tribe-like stance of having pretends, no offends, but  on rrroaming the fence of your residence with presence of  tech support, it could be sport to bet how you get on the toilet, or you know, just omletting the latest evette that was set from the very beginning, even if we know that the thinging about your zitty ass was “ooul-Right Chess” and singing apart from the Thing in.

What you could tell us about your telligence? In side or back side of your ratty aliance? Could it be sweet to meat something in fancy shoes... Can I retreat to forfeit lolly heritjuice? Bear-meet the hermit that stwaches your unrightfulness. Hole to devide river type of the parchmentless. Dreeply hell Or give a damn to an R sound. Bring it to “on” an upcoming re-G bound. Hope to refound, sure you make your own choice. Slap your own bitchin till having a voice. Know you that hiding leads perfectly to dance. Foam the unfoamed with the crit of a grip trance.

You know, a trip one, a hit one, oldschooling. You know, a close-to-the jungle that ruling. Damn, all the ladies in the place got real face, real bingonails. Getting the lipbow freal juicing a place to unplace the petawrda, hoharda the givining, youtting kokarda of ryeing the livning. Swingning!

Hell yeah, M-sim, a beautifull inner, a disguiser of my ruins, thank you for fluids and having a common. Next time will ask him if he is at Gnomon.