Why I love taking mud baths with Dr. Who

Version 1.7

Come out from behind and tremble like a gun. The more thunk about, more pastiched said dementia overdetermined. Never say never.

Living the dream. Getting disgusted with themselves? Hard to tell, when happy as Larry shell bathing in The Royal Hot Springs.

Why I love taking mud baths with Dr. Who?

Hopeless off license, treachery of giants. Worth every grope and indignity. Negative tarrying comes out of long-ago-lit religious fumes, musth of eternal Polly wanna wanna –

As compared to stuck in Wall like Deadly Past – its a thunder ball, love them all. Easily get off track –

Sorcerers row – bagworms, green flies, drippers, sippers, zippy & molt.

Thar’s treasure in thar – tributarial, under all that hopeless impotence, importunating for scope.

Clowns awaken near (though not actually in) hot pink psycho sentimental bubbling liquid afterglow –

Oh testy ropes – Division 1QJ3. Parry, quarry & campy here awhile with my Killer Border Bunny and Bee.

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