Advice Will be Heeded Even as You Attempt to HeadDanielle Pafunda
The fuckwad says, my dear, my doughy dewy doe-eyed dimple, you mustn't attempt to think while you Sphinx. You mustn't leave the room now, for you haven't ever yet. And what will Odd Job think? What will he odious pus in the empty nest with a piddle of wire and a prong? What will he when he gets in your grille and finds that you've gone? Look you after that corset, which strings trick you out and whip you floss again. Look you above, a halo to still your roving mag eye. Taken won't you? With his obliging fig paw? His homoeothermic enterprise? The fuckwad says, really, a number of wolves? Think you not actually mice in the glut? Oughtn't you ignore mice, foul weather, other shod feet shambling? Whatever the world, it hasn't called. It hasn't lifted your lip.
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