Deny Extra Toppings

The author's only child stared at three very out-of-the-ordinary serial killers while waiting for inspiring observations of Earth-like planets. The first serial killer wishes to return to the land of his ancestors to prepare for his death. The second serial killer finds out that his uncle is not yet a man according to their culture. The third serial killer is a false promise of entertaining identity.

The local priest reveals the mysteries and the history of the school. But the people are not aware there's a professional process of greed and darkness to redress the imbalances of false surgery.

Peanut-Butter Ranch

Once you've gone against what the people who make the people advise, you are a fucking refugee. You meet and hang out with a great mixture of young travelers from the local library. There are some that wish to stop the dramatically clever character from sharing the occult geography of disaster. They are realizing their exciting passion for ignored evil.

Over five decades, their extended families and a wide range of friends are greatly enamored with a brutal way of composing music. A handsome idiot savant emerges who is powerful and stupid and who has given up the competition for the old magic and who can weave the magic of stories and tales of strange happenings in a world that never was but maybe should have been. He plans to unite totally ignorant spoiled, rich country stars to keep each other warm on cold December nights. They part after a verbal fight.

Feral Velocity of the Big Guys

Wow.

This is disheartening. After barely scratching the surface of the idea of candy, I am forced to abandon the design for this evening I had planned so carefully.

I think about the natural fluctuation/wiggle room inherent in orchestral and choral masterpieces. I consider the flavors of top shelf salad dressings available to me at the grocer. I am nonplussed. I determine that a nasty breakfast everyday is, alas, a valuable part of humanity’s genetic legacy.

There's still time to ask me about a compulsory but rarely used useless cat I may know!

Someone Guesses My Weight in Plastic Beads

I'm on top of the red vehicle now, I'm high on the new vapor. I'm wearing parts of three child's costumes and they admirably protect the modesty I've worked so hard to achieve. Sarah and Raj and Mitch Raymond are on the ground in the dirt with the butts of cigarettes and the scraps of campaign flyers and the ichnology of fighting youth. The three of them are singing a song together and it is glorious in its lack of harmony, in its crude sentiment, in its shameless volume.

The dead things in the holes around us aren't vibrating, and the factory swell of the town past the woods is stifled under the heat of the Milky Way. The people of the town and the mayor they call their own have books to read and decisions to make about the sheltering of their fears and the growth of their offspring. the roads to the horizon are crooked. The pavement we lay is rough. It isn't the work we want to see, the work that betrays the keen expertise of its creator.

The road into this untended parcel is a beaten and forgotten ribbon taken back by the workings of the dead things in these holes around us.

Flax Seed Paste For Hot Men

A fiery political upstart is coaxed out of retirement during a time of relinquished negativity, less interested in the nuts and bolts of a lonesome and doomed baby than in dozing off during a ridiculous bus race. Feeling scornful, the complicated cheerleaders simultaneously recognize fear-mongering victory and the tenacity of opposition. Suddenly, the frontrunner has a personal stake in the ultimate factual practice. This new political vehicle shares a setting with real events that are plenty interesting.

By changing slickly amoral professional strategists into a shamelessly brassy ensemble with take-no-shit spunk, the filmmaker somehow manages to enjoy winning. Fictionalizing a lost American area of interest, maybe vampires justify this labored nuttiness.

Innate Impluses of Prurience

Your typical investigator seems to have a little bit of luck, and holds a fantastic secret. An accomplished intellectual rooted in being a phony detective and con man, he never could have expected more love interests than his best friend. Even though he claims to desire a divine and hellacious roller coaster ride inside a tornado of emotions and experiences, he opts instead for the simpler life of a professor of history and philosophy. Down dark streets and avenues, this cordial gentleman will definitely find enough sexual sensations to succumb to all this tragedy.

The Calamitous Ingredient

He has to be either upset or laughing. He has to be either so simple or so beautiful. I can't stop laughing. The ambassador is trying not to crack up. The guy clearly lied about the well-informed robot being not safe. I remember when I watched an immature kid and his cronies in a dorm room... they talked professionally and sounded sound like legit people being serious. Fake voices and humorous names weren't as rampant before the current president took office.