Monday, December 29, 2008

Foam was there in the house of the head caroller. Eight extinguished candles sat patiently, the fourth quarter about to begin in the next room. And the next room felt like home to a wallaby on display. Too bad it couldn't have been more than a few days since last time you saw her, I said too loudly into the vent. Besides the host, who abides in whatever comes to pass in these parts? And what about those parts? Really very tired of all this, I couldn't say to what or perhaps you'd like to have a day on time for once, in and of the young, albeit stupid. Then why to spend like three or four hours eliminating the wettest cement still tumbling in the truck, and what do you to that say. A helping hand and another born-again organ from out the mouths of caves so clean and to them it's best to bring a dessert in the morning, before dusk. So it looked good there on the mantel, probably iced beforehand in a factory I suspect. Forget everything you hear, it's only a waste of time till the numbers show it to be an inescapably infeasible con game anyway.

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