a snow of butterflies : texticity

by Tomorrow's Man

December 29, 2003

Frankly, my halibut, I don't give a woodle. Upon a nonce bequeathern by a fonked moon I fargled your uncle, but that was merely to squonk his maggre -- your annuntie -- not a flegged hour later. I tell you, my farker was broonhilded that day!

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