The Pants...
these.
They melt, a penguin tux to ashes. Close.
Closed.
IfArtHadAYellowHatItWouldBeADelinquentRoseryOfCotton.
Randykins
Look at those stars. The Dormouse would look. I have looked upon occasion, preparing for preparatory participation in preliminary proctor parties, that these pants are drowzee. How drowzee.
In three days I flew a coup I will. There will be hangtime party at the institution of that name. I will rejoice and relax into oblivion. I will be blaze. Reading theology of the jewery.
Your Delicatessen...
fint
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