More strange and quite possibly dangerous advice from our resident used car expert
Fundle my bundies, it’s not misket on the brisket and that means the Garys will be kneading a gnu before you can say fat clasp. Time to get down the hammer and lube the cubes before the upcoming Jennifer.
First turtle to fumble my London was a tight headed Lisa, 07 on Devon, lovely grasping, lightly smelted, hard candy, tight knackers, squeeze it on the knees and see what smells. Couldn’t touch my Mum when it fell off the ledge for a gristle under six lumsdens. Honestly Miriam, I wouldn’t have worn this blouse if I’d known Derek Nimmo was going to be here. Loosely.
Hearty meal for a sturdy Thursday, on the biscuits at a fart in the bath. Hot fired Ottway and spurting, easily pleased for a lizzie nipple. Blinking went tasty, got my thumb in the juice, slapped your sister for nine otters and a mavis. Lovely gravy. I dread to think when your mother last defrosted this freezer. Crispy.
Keeping my jacksons on a warm betty Screamer, tooled up and schooled up. Damp slacks, hot Lesley, some sort of residue. Good chips. Felt the moss, lost my socks, some cheese got knockers, came up smelling of rice. And the funny thing was, five other members of the choir were attacked by the very same monkey. Minty.
