Round 13, 2008, Geelong beat West Coast
Awe my flicking cods! The Clatters have hounded the Ogles their pills on a plot in an ice-savvying grin that hurts the ghosts axe-screaminly bodily.
The Ogles, idle vulture to waddle, have never been smooched so hard and sour tootlessly. The Clatters were, muddy ute, a spite for melting thighs.
Their chimp, the stun of cod, was in firing from a cunny and the girls were spelled evilly. The Ogles, their races offal, licked more for their heir than ulcers.
Up the flicking geek without a bidet, I'd goad as fart as toot say. Not the crease for the Clatters: rancid them in for a spit in the blog one, at the lost.
The Crows, on the rebind after all, will be hoping to give them a shoe, while the Ogres, I, all moist, veal sully for them: they furnace the hat and culled Gawks.
The Ogles, idle vulture to waddle, have never been smooched so hard and sour tootlessly. The Clatters were, muddy ute, a spite for melting thighs.
Their chimp, the stun of cod, was in firing from a cunny and the girls were spelled evilly. The Ogles, their races offal, licked more for their heir than ulcers.
Up the flicking geek without a bidet, I'd goad as fart as toot say. Not the crease for the Clatters: rancid them in for a spit in the blog one, at the lost.
The Crows, on the rebind after all, will be hoping to give them a shoe, while the Ogres, I, all moist, veal sully for them: they furnace the hat and culled Gawks.
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