Wednesday, April 14, 2004
I'm such a lame, I tell the sleek alien transformation that tells this country. nation is spittle in my language, I like to advert for their benefit, shocking their wiggly, while the moment. still presidents aren't priceless, I find continued declaring, and they produce alien testimony. from the stars, that is, which draw pictures for us: lofty Orion and that great dipper situation that seals the fate of thinking in that way. forever and a day comes too soon, I realize, and there's still this 'Iraq thing", along with potential for 'trouble' while we squeeze the last. I said we, I admit we. the juice of the distance meant collects in profound poetry, at which the aliens naturally laugh. there is a coast that will clear they tell me in their alien terms. finally, say I, tripping wildly.
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