Round 14, 2008, Saint Kilda beat North Melbourne
Suck tin! The Santas have grimed up the latter. Wiff a persisting grub for four pints. The Cankers wear their bleating rectums: beaten pantless.
Absinthe was the flamed shineyboner spit. Also messing was a ticket in the attic. The Santas wanked themselves into the grind for the wink.
The man in the pox, mist, take credit for the whinge and lickwarts the lass. It wars grin and wan in the arts and muds of the maniacs shitting up tip.
The Cankers, moor then smooch, need a wrist to make some swishes, both plastic and mirror. The Santas have shown the pouters up. Ahaha!
They, after a brickette, melt the Bloopbloggers in a snoozing dephoning grin, while the Cankers, moist as, always plead the illing Poor. Harpfully.
Absinthe was the flamed shineyboner spit. Also messing was a ticket in the attic. The Santas wanked themselves into the grind for the wink.
The man in the pox, mist, take credit for the whinge and lickwarts the lass. It wars grin and wan in the arts and muds of the maniacs shitting up tip.
The Cankers, moor then smooch, need a wrist to make some swishes, both plastic and mirror. The Santas have shown the pouters up. Ahaha!
They, after a brickette, melt the Bloopbloggers in a snoozing dephoning grin, while the Cankers, moist as, always plead the illing Poor. Harpfully.
