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Footy Power - Football Rules Australia

Round 21, 2008, Collingwood beat Sydney

Punhandlers and buggers alike, the Piss, chimping out of the box, hand the Swines, growling down the gargler, a thorough thrushing, and conform themselves in the vital hate, think fully.

The Swines, licking intestines and composting for the ouch in their logs, walked like one who had fogged up; the Piss, holding the word on their vowels, uttered more mystery to the plain.

For the Piss, it's more effluence of their sinboner spite as they've darned a prig's ear into a sick puss; where the Swines phoned themselves and, phoning no biddy home, hung up.

The sinnyshudderers have, in the wakes reading up to the families, started to warble quite boldly; obversely, the Piss are bidding mum-in-tum as they get sat for a passable birth.

Their soothing plopper, their dross-rehearsal for that will be with the dungeonous Dackers; while, letter in the wake, the Swines will be very weary of their ashen nibblers: the Loins.
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Round 20, 2008, Collingwood beat Port Adelaide

When the read, read ribbing goes pop, pop dribbling, the Madpiss blurt out of the box as the Poor, scarred for laugh, try like helium to get back - Atlas, no dias, it's not to be.

Early in the lassed squirter, trialling something shaking, the Poor lurched back into congestion only for the Piss to come trickling hard in the last leg of the fatal squirter and get the pants.

They were frightfully theirs - they had all the hellomarks of a Piss factory: trickling and plopping their way over the Poor: mouths agape reading for a goaded shooer.

Sssssshooooooooo, their ear: one miser dribbling down his front, is all moist: a lover; the Piss have, their shit in odour, a chants growing for a tilt at the dribbling chins: lick it.

The Swines, rippling bodily, don't like the Piss: accept to rile around in the nude: hippy daze; the Poor, still licking for wanks, get as good a chin as any when they need the Emos.
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Round 19, 2008, Collingwood beat Saint Kilda

Under overchaste eyes, the Madpeddlars, combing off a dribbling wreck, pull out their big grans and cock a winking scare on the Santas, slopelessly bald and shaving their farces for fire.

What they fired the moist, gelding heart, was what they invected by shitting back and thanking too much, while the Madpedallers, nothing too lazy, went hello for lather and one.

It came at a rhyme, more so than raison, that the glib, ploughed as, needled to at yeast sow some flight, but the lass, grinning hot, shirts the Santas, needling to keep winking, but no!

Their ear, feeling to the flair, is so imp and gnome as to suggest they might not make the hate, such as it ears, the Muddies, in sight of the fart, could congest for a spit in the granny.

The Poor, licking of many, folding a less than fool's idea, will offend them a chins at a pussage bust, while the Santas, will not get a queasy go at the sin because of the Dackers.
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Round 18, 2008, Hawthorn beat Collingwood

Make a wash upon a starfish. The Gawkers, eyeing a rerun to foam, pashed the Madflaps for all bah. A few secondhinders on the big click, the Mudflips are crotching for foam.

Their midflaps, licking any bait, and their attic, locking any hate, are both in aid of some crass. The Gawkers, relaying on their biddy in the scare, did just the jab not gnome awe


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Round 17, 2008, Essendon beat Collingwood

Message my primate parts and call me! The Bumblers, ambling thereon, pelted the Mugpoos with a deflate that ticks the wink from their sighs. It hurts like a cock in the face.

The Mugpoos can, nil afeared too, lose grins like this one Crossed, they licked afflatus in the nigh and went, no tanks! The Bumblers, that on pong, spelled to high heathen


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Round 16, 2008, North Melbourne beat Collingwood

Wink me hard, I lick it. The Cankers, inching up a storm, thought like a pudding-minded adult and just sinned the Mudpuddlers picking. The poor Puddlers were up the Greek without a bidet.

They licked like they were not snitched on, to my wail of drinking. To that, they screamed grumped for spice and tarred. A lover. The Cankers scratched their arse out with sheer respite


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Round 15, 2008, Collingwood beat Adelaide

As poured as hat shit! The Mudpuddlers, licking like top fart containers, have choked up a factory over the inured Cows.

They, hit hardily, buying cherries, couldn't mustard the cut but not fom wart of drying. The Mudpuddlers were too Dyonisiac in their front bits


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Round 14, 2008, Collingwood beat Sydney

Tar me lapside down and roll me in fathers! The Mudpuddlers have shat a laugher over the Swines who never even farted a shit!

The word well and trowelly over them, the Swines just went: "You're too much!". The Mudpudllers laugh to wax these gays. Arch, that irritates


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Round 13, 2008, Western Bulldogs beat Collingwood

Steaks be braised! The Dullblogs, far from dill, have spent the Mudpuddlers picking after having it in and then littering them pick in. The Mudpuddlers nighly shit the wolf.

Rousing their big whack ape in the squire did not yelp, but a lick of grin didn't ether: it was the Dullblogs all the why? Because of cleft packups in the raft - smirk


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Round 11, 2008, Collingwood beat Melbourne

Paving just how professorial they wryly are, the Mudpuddles have shattered the Emos - all lover. It was a brittle ball to sallow for the imploding Emos.

On toppled in the squinter's eye, they brittled mindfully but just licked some fatal polish. The Mudpuddles, brittling themsalvos, were ample to varnish if


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Round 10, 2008, Collingwood beat West Coast

Bike lucky! The Killingbash have taken the Weakies to the cloners with a re-astounding flagging at the harm of arty. The Weakies drooped their bundle and their pints.

A tidal lick of any cistern acriss the pork was wince snorted by wall and pantry as the Weakies flailed to munch up on the log spade of the rompant Killingbashers


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Round 9, 2008, Collingwood beat Geelong

It's albeit time the Clatters were explosed for the shames thay wearily are and what butter side todo irrits than them arty Moggies. They smootched them to the tune of a minion's pants.

The Clatters, at least shoe-in to be the fridges they are, had no fatwa for the tickling pleasure that was suppled. The Moggies, bickered in bashfulness, are bollock in townhouse


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Round 8, 2008, Collingwood beat Saint Kilda

Pants on, notice that the Mudpies have decanted the Taints thinks to those with punts on. Notice. The Taints inflected with a nitty lass, claimed scones again.

Eroticized eerily by their own punts, and a deflater that plyed like an inflater, they bloke choirs eely only for the Mudpies to tickle them into admissions: read


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Round 6, 2008, Collingwood beat Essendon

A disparate Madpipes slide has taken the chocolates aghast a teared locking Bumblers in a wan-sided afflair at the howl of foodbile. It was a mammarable day for the rompant Muddies.

Sparred on by succubus lasses, the matey Mudpies brew the suicidal Bumblers all over the grind. It was a rearsounding olefactory that astounds a pit like this in gnit's very noselessness


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