InfiniteNow Posted April 9, 2007 Report Posted April 9, 2007 PART 1PART 2PART 3 Nevertheless, when exhaust is open engines don’t stall, but small people smell with noses like a cows pasture waiting for me on the planet, Pluto. But, Pluto…PART 4 …That’s another story that I’ll save and I hope this next one will be just as evolutionary as the last one. Without pontificating upon reasons for which cannot be explained in terms of a normal understading. However, it can lead to a galaxy-wide disaster. “****!” she exclaimed as she saw the main bung leaking sticky ooze from its imaginary orifice. “****!” she repeated. I’m leaving. Meanwhile, back in the mammal cave, blueprints were drawn corresponding to the location to which she was building an enormous shrubbery containing the Hideoblastonic Beamatron. I poured ethylenediaminetetraaceticacid down the chimney, which was a BIG mistake, because the beaver forgot to take off the dam plug. So, now there was cave flooding! To worsen things, Moscow issued poor proverbial token chips that could only purchase tram fare for Hideobastonic Beamatron’s exhilarating ride to the river styx. “No pennies,” he said with jest. “So, you can breathe moon sap until your high and mighty king reclaims your soul for lunar power and soul sourcing.” Upon my ascension, I’ll fall down, but before my mind implodes through my eyesockets and sprays upon my gaping wormhole, which consumed the galaxy, and continued to make another one. Life was doomed, but strangely a sentient being emerged, and with its ego filled tentacles, it reached out towards my previously shed shell ship hyperdimensionally traversing unexplored areas of shell. So then I sang a song, The Dead Horse. After the ceremony which killed him… like, incarcerated dude… Game over. Period. Happily, its clone concocted blue hummus which was quite firm… yet tasty. No longer will I prefer green globs of gopher on stale bread, with moldy cheeses that induce vomiting and hallucinatory migraines. Which was fine, if plenty of people were watching, but not when you’re a dietician. Some people know calculus, some don’t. My preference is perverse sexual activities with mulletted cows and pregnant hens, while whistling Dixie to piccolo standards! One day, we dibbled Diable duets, doing dastardly deeds, one after another, but the cow had a conscience. Blessed be, kittycow… “moo moo, meow,” said kittycow. When milk began flowing from her voluptuous kitty mammalian glands, situated beside her cellulite ridden legs. Hypography Science Forums are the best of the worst, considering that authors are mammals… no, actually… fish. I like fish. It tastes like baked mammal flesh. “Tartar sauce, anyone?” …served with wine… “More cheese, please.” “Any dessert with that?” “I’m so full.” “I am, too.” Greedy, gluttonous bunch of naked apes, your mother didn’t change your diapers, which is obvious. Follow your nose. At the time of revolution left right leg was out’a cadence. I wish that the outermost planet would move closer so I can ogle ominous aurora all day long through my telescope and my binoculars… What a sight! I once said people are funny gobshites with no job or car… so exasperating. These messy eaters, with good for nothing mothers who are so fat that their gravitational field warped Uranus. However, given the circumstances, she unexpectedly exploded, causing spacetime to have second thoughts about gravity’s role… with poppy seeds… on rotors’ epicycles… When suddenly appeared a fifth wheel to roll away orthogonally to the uncharted land of Monomotapa, South of orthogonalville, kata of nothing. America is two continents that consistently wage war against evil axes who reign supreme as leotard queens with jesters galore. These wars are the bane of all frosted wheaties, floating in a mortar and pestle with concentrated sulfuric acid. I love Sourmilk when it’s scorching, hot and lumpy on the tongue. Disgusting some say, but I love it. Yet, this time it seemed different… I don’t know… What was it? Loneliness confronted the lioness, as she ate her cub. The loneliness passed when a stunning plastic action figure danced serendipitously amongst the three dead. A spectator applauded. When the dancing finally stopped, spectators pondered a peaceful solution to the Northern Irish. They needed to violently and drunkenly make love. Stay within the species… an arduous task for the dim witted who read this, including Orbsycli. Orbsycli was very disconcerted when his bong started to leak. We tried to use duct tape, as a stopgap, but it leaked the putrid love we call brownies. Boerseun 1 Quote
Racoon Posted April 9, 2007 Report Posted April 9, 2007 we call brownies. sugar laden confections Quote
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