Drip Drop Drowzee Pants

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

A pox upon the houses that spite the raisinette!

I hath shriveled most profusely, my condiments of glory, used up and replaced with empty plastic good fer nothin's. My cohort jangle, jingled his proud jangle at last, and heaved a heavy stout pickle.

it was salty as my tears. Our guise was revealed. my bruce wayne of sorts. our grapish ruse is but a raisin.

tasty raisins!

We were as millers, beering out philanthropy amoungst the webs, Though i a steward, watching the condor of gondor still wait for a next time to rally my vice once again...

adieu