stream of conscious poetry
the author would like to sat that he was not stoned when he wrote this work.
two major rivers run through turky to the caspian bason, the aras, and the other is not a lion
kirt cobain, you dont cross the boss, put a cork in it, zane, mosman disk jokey, cheeto pull my finger, angry boy wants to learn to argue and fight, whats to be done about that? cheeeto! comeback! who gets mad? i get mad, the good mad, the good the mad and the fugly. 95864423 the presitant's elbow is missing! death dous not concern us because as long as we exist death has not come, my dad believes the report card dous not define the child, we leave that up the cane. nothing will save you from acting like a baby, exept a ton of thereapie, and whyping the right lotion on your forehead. doodle ee do. join the dots dustin! its not what we wanted to hear but we were listening so its our own fault! who wets the bed now? schoooolz out 4 summer, dous'nt get mutch dummer, its really a bumer. its your fault for getting us here, and where you got us is in the middle of disaster, so i dont expect you to be capable of getting us out- and a texas rangers goes on alone, through lan a half drunk goat's child would'nt cross if the devil payed him with a lusivious acting course. your not my house mate! my house mate uses elbow grease to whas his tuber and you just used your tuber to wash your elbow grease! shame my good man, why are you doing this to me? me? after i fixed your wounds, picked you up when they where taking the white vinigar from your chips and replaced it with common balsamic! i was so good to you, i let you sleep on my floor, and now you spit in my face like a sea urchin.
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