Monday, July 24, 2006

Macrocosm We Dead

Rhyme Wire, Steven. I said it to him, and he let out a virus of giant weevol proportions. He sais thanks for the coyotes, Canada. You should have seen him. A burden? No, more like a sweet September morning filled with poo and shewolves. I believe you, mastodon, I said. And...oddlydoddlydity enogh, I did.

I am a motherfucking moose!

I visit-ed wholsaler this week to see about new "Moose-suits" and was instead engaged in endearing man-hunt with two part fold:

Part the One: To be carried in clarity throughout my reception.
Part the Second: Shotgun and Screamed "Get The Fuck Out!".

As man-hunt share to me, I give goat pleasing. Moose being that I am, I abstained from constitutionals for at least the recent fortnight. This was good. Good.

Now, in the future, I would appreciate if you, moose, moose hater, and elk were cock-ring! I think.

Moose and moose hater share bold cargo. Cargo, not quite but instead it should be known that beige-chan has made many inroads with the rural lebonese. To quote a poem:

In times of concrete,
each man is steel,
so we march,
the drum beat louder and louder.
It goes: Boom, ch, boop boop, ch.

I stay back now as angry skinhead with nunchuck start keep ballowing and I keep my own sessions the xsame. Now, in time past, I would share to the "GLOWING" and also the "CHAFFING", never mind.

Thank you for your time, I am excited about this opportunity and look forward to meeting you in person.

Otis Nixon.