Wednesday, August 5, 2009

onto the bleating parsnips

My goodness, what a purty step-grandfather clock. I mean, it couldn't be that the snarling owl babies have returned from their sojourn into gamestop. No of course not. More likely that hardened egg crates have been infused into the world of tarts and cookies. Although mostly unfurled, the pandemonium surrounding the Armenian marching band has been blown out of prepositions. All the gravy won't be accused of robbing a banded goat. Flapping out of the hardwood forest, we should yelp with discouragement at the frozen rolling pin. Enter the jalopy eating cakes.

1 comments:

stappage said...

I agree whole-heartedly that clock sure is perdy. With the bleating snips of par comes the hallucinogenic properties of Colquit county chilli cook off runner-ups. That being in mind, there is an ear mite infesation stuck to my wing. Any and all philantropic carboard boxes please refer to the manual for dishwasher safe warnings.