30 January, 2011


Note: the following contains nonsense. Please excuse my indulgence.

There by the sink came a-rolling and a-marching. Twenty-four pipsqueaks following an army major barking. With the window open by the shellings piled high, kamikaze citrus tickled whiskered beetroots by. One by one the grilled tomatoes cried, just as the iceberg lettuce nestled at slivered mushroom side. High and higher bounce the tennis sets alrighty, while naked onions cried something quite mighty. Then came the planes of the juice of yellow peels, raining on the lanes of the leafy minted wheels.

I've run out of juice. Sorry.

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