Round 18, 2008, North Melbourne beat Brisbane
Drip me in butter and fray me, deeply. The Cankers, blogger me dead, tickled the chocolates over the Loins in a very crass snatch. It could have coined the ether way.
The Loins, rake my dread, are stuttering at these girdles as the Cankers, all lover like a wash, have stunk a fuel together and lick stillettos for a shit at the top fowl.
You have to harangue it to them; the chinpony spit is all laugh and licking! The Loins, no louses in the spit deportment, are needling their eyes for a wink. Harry, up!
Their yearn, slowly subsidising, is fast growing down the gargler but all is not listed. The Cankers, set for a spell, are finding their fiat a bit to hourly for my licking.
They toggle the Dullblogs at a loping punt and are a flavoured to whinge, sourly; the Loins, musky, stand a giants when they piddle the Gawkers: new easybleats.
The Loins, rake my dread, are stuttering at these girdles as the Cankers, all lover like a wash, have stunk a fuel together and lick stillettos for a shit at the top fowl.
You have to harangue it to them; the chinpony spit is all laugh and licking! The Loins, no louses in the spit deportment, are needling their eyes for a wink. Harry, up!
Their yearn, slowly subsidising, is fast growing down the gargler but all is not listed. The Cankers, set for a spell, are finding their fiat a bit to hourly for my licking.
They toggle the Dullblogs at a loping punt and are a flavoured to whinge, sourly; the Loins, musky, stand a giants when they piddle the Gawkers: new easybleats.
