=The vicious day of the cherry bees=

“Sofly Sire, the kettle’s fill is uncook”. Ten extra minutes should add a snap to its crook, she thought. Although the hot suffer pour won’t quench them for their thirst, a mid-sized cup would at least befit them to their best. “Oh, I swear the sun could teether from my nippl’s”, she muttered as she holds the trump. And they keep on struggling as they hardly breathe in these poor moments of garlic huff.

...Huff, and smooch, huff and smooch…

Even the evening socks smelled like fresh-ripped clam-butter choked out from an Irish gutter. Now we can see the climax of the scenes is to be founded on nasty liquors (as usual). But the liquors itself found him a lame and hers a wasted pair. Yet her only excuse was… “Scotch drink do bitter me much… sire...”. And still, the kettle’s fill is less half only cooked. The insane melody keeps striking and stinging like a bad soundtrack played for The Sultry Bee. There was no other choice than to wait. Yet she is capable of nothing else but to longing for more…and more. Each time was never nearly in joy. But the man kept calmly believes that he is an expert to this state.” And to call it Fiesta in Italic way?!.” He ignites with a glare. But they soon knew this was yet but another cool slightly idiomatic slit, it was nothing different from a constant spit. The dialogue ended terribly. There are no cutting scenes for this one. It possibly just needed another low blow jig.

But they crossed again; then, it was a hilarious met of taps, claps, and slaps on the stage! A magnificent performance from the mistress’ rowdy act melts with the young prince’s Broadway charm. It was not much of a horror for an instant kill.

…So you see, on their last play in this present night… She was the only one shouted in stout…!! Oh! Would you not believe?

And half a minute half a second half an eye lash to make before the final act was executed. The tape was secluded from its case. The black and white pilgrimage plays the moderate anecdotes on the screen.

The curtain was exploded in a shout and left the outstanding audience drooled with drooping mimic.

“I have no idea where the story goes...”
“But an encore won’t seem nice…”

Then, Riot shook heavily like raging typhoon. The fighting matador had even stoop for a peep…
It was a cheap drama in a hoax tax-sucking cinema, yet the corn blend with excellent cheesy taste (they voted for it anyway).

But the blood spills the tremendous trails along way the carpet. And the warm stench of stinking flesh exhales from the showroom of ecstasy...
We gladly presume that the main road would not be so exciting to travel with, for now...

And with eyes open wide against this sinful odor. We chase ourselves near like a pack of hauls, craving out from our frivolous existence.

Spooky friend, let us quit not while we snot.