Sick oh fancy that.
Click that link, yank that tag, follow the crumbs to another exercise in mutual congratubation: “Wonderful how you love the way you beautiful way you words the feelings the words that love the way… as ever!”
Hoy llamé a, casa abandonada.
If you’ll like me, I’ll like you, and agree to review the potpourri of mental debris that you spew with a gentle praise, sentimental and undue.
My moniker, caressed with a mouse whisker briskly depressed will confess my address: check my shit, press it. (quicker!)
I plunge my beak in, for some sneak peekin':
Never an ill word heard.
Never a critique to speak of.
Never mind that it is drivel or makes no sense, like Elliott’s clever pretense, a collusion of narcissism keeps us riding the vanity manatee, splashing through the saccharine waves, protecting the Emperor from the elements.
De las paredes brotan arañas.