If only the right button could be clicked, for then it would be possible to erase the bastard tarnish that I wrote on the wall. To be honest, it’s quite the looker. You’d have to be a Yorkshire-man with no breathe to believe that ridiculousness. Credulous, an undetermined focus relinquishes all opposed to my discretion, I’d like to be polite but you give me no choice madam. Perhaps our next encounter wouldn’t parade a salaciously bisexual male to those lengths but if you think it’s necessary then that is fine, but for now I will no longer be apart of your fucking games.
Allow me to demonstrate a particularly peculiar situation. You’re involved little darling, come down and see the mess you’ve made but behave because there are adults watching. You sound suspicious, relenting a fonder to express that if the expression is nothing less than alcohol fueled relaxation in the mind of a sycophant, panting you cutely yonder in the mindless T-REX delusion. Though to those who know better, according to what we’ve become it’s a little less than obvious what’re you’re doing. You advantageously incite, our previous enlightenment proclaiming it had been forged in a fallacy that packed a punch when it burnt. It took too long for him to know, he realizes why they didn’t, but he wished for god sake they had sooner.