Compulsory Anonymity wrote:

In article , ah
wrote:
Compulsory Anonymity wrote:

In article , ah
wrote:
Compulsory Anonymity wrote:

In article , ah

wrote:
Do fries come with that?

Only when they use it as a sex aid, and even then it's touch and, uh, go.

At the drive-through, it did boil,
Burbling-along at 3 drips--each
Second--aside, out of reach:
We didn't wait for the vegetable oil.

I loved that potato!

In the sublime caress of the transaction
Between there and here across my singularity,
The tuber was unaware of the hilarity
That its dissolution was more sensible than fun.

Help me now in the strength to find
the stage...
Lock the rage inside you...
But today when I tried all I got was
the time until the stiches split.

There was no sense of you in me.
You yearn to win such a lover's clinch,
she begs it something pretty for
the one we love the smile on.

Your face but my makeup or some of you
lit the fuse, tore down your aerial.
It has its own and finds the way too
small to take off now.

You see through me I tied myself
to you...
I jumped the blame...
You wash their hair and his children trip,
fallen foul of your strumming.

You would have lost and then we
could go and get the blood.
He'll be the water.
This is a knife that
keeps my float dry.

Determinedly, I dreampt of the knife,
but wisdom never turned the mud
to suffering in their blood.
I should appreciate his wife.

Darkly I destroy this relic--
being hardly mortal in this mind,
I would cry for our temple's kind
when every stained cell is sick.

Could you kill this creature for us?
While I glide along the indemnity
of your disease and parsed sanity,
and rhythmically suffer God's bus?

You are dying this soul,
and would kill her eyebrow.
But, for all it is, now
repetitively immortalised in this bowl.

She's slightly timeless, as his are,
yet too bright for the wisdom should
they tap this stained, rhythmic wood.
Palely, I gaze in truth at the bar.

However miserably I understand our hatred,
I am oh so red when the fatal sheep
could crush their hatred's leap,
and torment the innocence, all said.

We didn't wait for the vegetable oil,
as everyone else did in the soil,
I loved that potato in the yard.
The sublime caress of the time
when I hit my head on the clock's nine
the stiches split and went hard.

You know you think it's easy,
running through the algea
you struggle, watch out it burns.
With it get the drivethrough,
while her parents never knew,
she begs for it in turns.

Something pretty for the one we love,
so the nuns can sit-back and shove
the smile on your face and my cock.
Makeup or some of you lit the fuse
things together while the blues
tore down your aerial, and your block.

You are dying this soul.
Verily, it sits in the bowl.
You would kill her eyebrow.
You are buying this soul.
"Have a puff!", said Trudeau.
In the afterglow.

Repetitively immortalised
in a rancid garden resized
within the stone of this ode
I would cry for our temple's kind
expiration--it fails the mind--
when every stained cell is cold.

You kill this creature for us while
the officer wallows in his bile:
I glide along the likes of your disease
that's oh, so gentle on the knees.
And parsed sanity and rhythmically suffer
the bum, three seats back from another
God's bus.
--
ah