Deranged demagogues dry fly-fishing dishes, yet Dixie doodles dis damn Yankees. Yellow yodelers yank your yoke, while yurts flirt near the barns on the Marne. Milled mullets munched mulled millet; jowls jabber the day away, OK? But the gist just crunches a hunch, and the lust list bunches lunch. Humble bundles fondle Rosie's blended friend's closed-end fund from the stacks of cracks in black municipal bonds tax on racks of wax. It's a gas: Bailey's shillelaghs sailing gaily caroused crowded kringles courting the King's strumpet. Bumping her trumpet crinkles a crumpet, 'cause crumpled wrinkles wrangle Ronnie's staunchly raunchy rural rant.
Be sure to digest your food before swallowing, and fling the flange following flayed flavoring, for Flo's flown four flaxen oxen flaunting paunches sans toxins. Loony fronds flick muni bonds when flickering slivers lick the livers. But bumps by the fields produce high-yield muni festooned with balloons crooning runes in the ruins of the dunes. Soon she'll DISCOVER another lover who agrees with the breeze as she freely pleases: Boxed lox lacks moxie.
Say it ten times fast. May fit den limes past.
ReplyDeleteIt didn't hurt Burt to eat yogurt in his yurt with the flirt in the curt skirt. Lily-livered silly lovers leave the covers off the loose-lipped unzipped yet well-equipped little Egypt. Watch them bump and grind from behind the mind as you unwind the unkind find beside the rind. I suppose it grows as she blows the rows of bows beneath her nose on those toes of the one who sows beside the does who doze in sweet repose.
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