Round 19, 2008, West Coast beat Essendon
As if tapping these mumbled worlds isn't a snuff, I had to waitress the Costers, my moist laughter, smooch the Bumblers, my other hourly fanny, to the tone of a gristly ten pants.
The praying, notched on the farces of the Bumblers, was effluent from the very thirst - the Costers, ogling the pints and thinking up, went hail for lather, and drew a way wearily.
To their internal credit, the Costers have put a prose on their pants an it was too lunch for the Bumblers, needling a wing, hurting bricks late but laughing their grin too loiter, Atlas!
The upshit of it all is that their yearn is a lover, but under a new couch they've shorn slap, lewds - the sign can't be shed for the Costers: not money prayers pit their hinds up.
They can put more arsenic on their cack: they get foul squirters on the Emos - but thinks don't get much bladder for the Bumblers: it's the Cows keeling up for their dolt at a flog.
The praying, notched on the farces of the Bumblers, was effluent from the very thirst - the Costers, ogling the pints and thinking up, went hail for lather, and drew a way wearily.
To their internal credit, the Costers have put a prose on their pants an it was too lunch for the Bumblers, needling a wing, hurting bricks late but laughing their grin too loiter, Atlas!
The upshit of it all is that their yearn is a lover, but under a new couch they've shorn slap, lewds - the sign can't be shed for the Costers: not money prayers pit their hinds up.
They can put more arsenic on their cack: they get foul squirters on the Emos - but thinks don't get much bladder for the Bumblers: it's the Cows keeling up for their dolt at a flog.
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