Round 13, 2008, Brisbane beat Adelaide
Slip a hut on me and kill me a hothead! The Loins, muttering again, have put one, all lover, on the Cows who stirred their glutes out only to lick the flying pun.
Their effetes, all art and no skull, follied to skirt the girls when they nodded them moist, while the Loins' onion rim was at its methodist with grin and scurry.
The Loins, wearing thick and pissing avuncularly well, had their nouns up the Cows, who had tomb to itch, not enough thingers and a lick of crass, yes!
Tis the smart off lass that lives one scrunching one's heels: the Cows are heffer the suede I fought while the Loins, confusedly, are somethong like not hat.
The Emos, putty munch fluked, will half their wink glue tout: thick as a pate, while the Cows get to heffer nutter goad: could lick! It's the Clatters, formline.
Their effetes, all art and no skull, follied to skirt the girls when they nodded them moist, while the Loins' onion rim was at its methodist with grin and scurry.
The Loins, wearing thick and pissing avuncularly well, had their nouns up the Cows, who had tomb to itch, not enough thingers and a lick of crass, yes!
Tis the smart off lass that lives one scrunching one's heels: the Cows are heffer the suede I fought while the Loins, confusedly, are somethong like not hat.
The Emos, putty munch fluked, will half their wink glue tout: thick as a pate, while the Cows get to heffer nutter goad: could lick! It's the Clatters, formline.
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