Two word story

[Opsa]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle.

[Swatopluk]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to

[Bluenose]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone

[Swatopluk]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone by mere

[Griffin NoName]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone by mere mucous, the

[Opsa]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone by mere mucous, the ocelot painted

[Griffin NoName]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone by mere mucous, the ocelot painted a line

[Swatopluk]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone by mere mucous, the ocelot painted a line on the

[Griffin NoName]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone by mere mucous, the ocelot painted a line on the nasal projection

[Opsa]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone by mere mucous, the ocelot painted a line on the nasal projection and declared

[Swatopluk]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone by mere mucous, the ocelot painted a line on the nasal projection and declared her independence

[Griffin NoName]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone by mere mucous, the ocelot painted a line on the nasal projection and declared her independence from white

[Swatopluk]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone by mere mucous, the ocelot painted a line on the nasal projection and declared her independence from white striped feline

[Pachyderm]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone by mere mucous, the ocelot painted a line on the nasal projection and declared her independence from white striped feline lined undergarments

[Swatopluk]

Chapter Fifty-Six

With only Saturday and Wednesday evening free for riding Harleys, Emilio and his parrot feeder went shopping for feather dusters, completely forgetting Santa's allergy to fibres (not just pink ones or those purple latex coated made by orangutans). Sneezing fitfully, cursing his genetic heritage, Santa's love-child flexed his whiskered nostrils before diligently whetting her grindstone and greasing up the axle, at least to the most reasonable specifications as defined by transsexual transylvanians in 1943.

Before you could say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or even simply "nertz", the two bicameral representatives rode their destitute drug mules into the pottery stands, breaking six impossible things before brunch nevermind losing their marbles. But Emilio's expansive weirdness, especially spelling, caused flashbacks and seriously affected the inflation rate of balloons. Confiding in state sponsored conspirators rendered rather helpless idiots useless. But still, on Halloween, the mules boarded the coach to drug heaven upon Lethe. Despite all the numerous plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and cracked wheat, the pre-school party milk was a very cheap solution (better: emulsion) that fixed silken wallpaper sizing problems. Condensed milk (density approaching 50% of the average soda pop) was scarce which meant that no lemon pies or liquorice frappés could be made. But for Emilio, insanity in membrane analysis classes was hereditary and he ached for some extra Turkish Lire to waste on the Syrian Uprising in Vanuatu's Mexican quarter after the elections.

Halloween was unusually free of rabid bishops with rabbit fur vests but infested with vermin hunting rodents with crossbows. Much to her surprise, Emilio's she-ocelot had no spots after washing in bleach based turpentine solution laced with pusser's rum, so could we all avoid touching our noses to prevent ginger marmalade contamination from the bishops' flying spittle. Not to be outdone by mere mucous, the ocelot painted a line on the nasal projection and declared her independence from white striped feline lined undergarments that had