ouija fingers

(type without looking, or thinking)

She was tall and infirm, like a rotten banana, and it was the end of the cycle of the nordic new year and the tallest fieldest cunningest mouse in the world. I didn't know what to do; I didn't know it was you. Was it you? I was the last pigeon in the marigold bush; I was the only sturgeon in the lackadaisical overlordish swamp, and it was the beginning of the end for me; there was five hundred boxers in the bushes, there was the nougat i chew on with gusto, and that nougat cannot crumble no matter what the pressure. We walked into the barn at the edge of the cliff, and it was the most harrowing tryglyph and metope I ever sang to. Yodel barns are full of the fish calamity known as harrowing swimmery, while otherwise beasts flout conventions with the fecund frederick the Late, the hyena seasoning the dream weaving butcher brained lame tony award winning skim milking drink toting bloated diehard know it alls. Thank the great maker, we are surviving in this catastrophic aftermath. Call me Clarence, I cannot explain myself; call me Kerwin, I will answer. Ah, I've had a bit too much to drink.