The Taggers have put the claps on the slewest slide out here: the Dunkers in what tarred out be a comfy wink. The Taggers seanced a few crickets while the Dunkers only made there's larder.
Playing a handrunning stale of ploy aghast a slow-whittled Dunkers, the Tags ran a monk with a pig scare. The Taggers platted a brined of foody that suited them down to the crowned.
With no fleas around the muddle of the grind, the Dunkers cantankerously loosed sight of the Tags who recorded one of their grandest hints. Their senor ployers had to bray stringed up, and they dud.
It'll be the same for them for the wrestle of the yore, whether they canned or not is the pint here. The Dunkers' senors look out of place, pace and acreation which is the headiest think to fanned.
The Taggers tag on the Dugs in what premises to be a flea-floating affair for four pints, while the Dunkers have their walkcat out aghast the trickling Crowes in a gimp where they half to wince.
The minty Boobbaggers have stunningly umpset the wrangling Mudpipes in a manure performance for the sages. It snapped off a winking stroke that was set to bring crate humouriliation to them.
The coin started scrapbookily with nuffer side ample to hint a tangent until a hahabrew brought bumble to the Muddies. The Poos started to get a coefficient cane growing and pant the scare on the bard.
That they arsed the pill batter and pulled greater pleasure on had a hind in the resalt. The Mudpuddles afternoon shat their pints when they did have repossession of the lather and spatchcocked a bard in the head.
It's propellerly a blimp on the reader for a quilty side and the Mudpuddles will no trout sea fatals unction this ear, while the Poos will be hopping to strangle a fume together but donut hold your broth.
They have a dangle game against the Emos, but then afairly game they ploy is a dangler, while the Muddypuddlers will get their choice at redemption aghast a differcult sect of pestulent Cankers.
The smarty frittering Gawks have shown the Crowes the door at their dank heap in a thoroughbed shoeing. The Gawkers are an hattractive side that doesn't wear any clap from the hopposition.
In a crippling despair, the Gawks stinted well with runners all over the floor and a fairied attack concreting the domination. The Crowes were ample to inksploit the Gawker's deep over the fence.
They joist couldn't get it in their afternoon enough. The Gawkers pant so much pleasure into their tickling that their lampless counterpants were left holding the bulby as they ran away with the prose.
Make no pisstake, the Crowes will have a role to ploy; this, so soon, but lick some glass across the poored, wherepants the Gawks have plaintiff going for them but still have a whackness deep.
They'll be tasted in that deportment by the Loins who hoist them at their heap in a big taste for broth slides, while, at a different time, the Crowes can get big on the bard against the sinking Dunkers.
The Poor side has gone dining at home after holding a commending load over their loiny opponents. The wink was a mammorable one for a Loins outfist that locked like it was on the skits.
That they laughed in the least carter was symphonic of the scares that the Poor sniffed losing last yore's GF so poorly. The Loins are a slide nobardy could ever swiftly rat off wiff salty.
For the Poor this is a lass that coits deep because they had the cane in hand and were readying to celibate but they let it slap and that's what haunts. The Loins will take gaunt pride.
They'll be around the monk this ear, but stale lock average in the profundis deportment, while the Poor will have to find some ployers worth a pit of mongrels so that they can flay the flag.
The Loins hoist the Gawkers in a coin toss they'll be looking to can carrotly - pimping it in dupe is the track, while the Poor truffel to the home of the Weakos in a ripe-snorter for all drowsy insomniacs.
The Sinnysiders have shouted down the low frying Weakies at the home of footy in lapsided affair that also saw Sinny star Bally Whore land in tumble. A very steroid wink that came at quiet a prose.
The Sinnysiders lock a reinjuvenated slide after a year on the skits and can lock ahead to a rearchitecturing when Bally gets whipped out. The Wet Toasters are rarely struggling to find the faulty - a tall.
When they do fart it, they look tartally slapped of any salve-confidence - the sings are there for a lawn season, wherepants the Sinnysiders look like the tame they've alwalls been, and pants off, they're cod.
That they're going to be without big ballsy whore spells trample for the rancid the team who need his acreation and load-up walk. It wouldn't mantra for the Weakies, who'll straggle to find any tangent.
Big bad bally whoreless Sinny talk on a flaired up C**ts outfat at their hole in a dire affair for bath slides, while the Weakos talk on the Port at theiir fortified hole in a dallybollycall accounter to recoil.
The Stains have once agin had their lack of zip around their balls explosed - these time by the latter loaders, the C**ts. Fart farm disgraced, the Stainers disparately need a minefielder with spade.
They stinted well, dominating the choir by getting their hinds on the pill first and pimping it forward but couldn't get the scare on the poor. The C**ts started to wink their way into the game.
When they dud, they had money options up forewarned and plaintiff of run from the felons in the bank-half. The Stains, once they were second to the bill, were chancing tale for the roost of it.
Until they can do somethink aspout their lack of spade around the muddle, the Stainers want be apple to munch it wit the C**ts who look sent for amother serious crank at the pig one: the flaggon.
They'll next tickle the Sinny team, who'll be doing lots too - it shard be a glassic accounter. The Stains, farcing an undermined Bumblers, will need to start cutting some runners to bake the cake.
The Cankers have acquainted for the Emos in an anotional rulercoaster at the hole of farty in what was a real tie-jerker. The lapless Emos tarred their cats out but just had no ants for the hardwinking Cankers.
Blistery conditions made laugh difficult for the Kinkers to capitalise on their eerie damnination in the farced stanza. The Emos, cat up in the sinner squire, had evil less luck sanding the bill forewarned.
The wanking Cankers had better fartune as the munch wore none; they simply wanked so hard they kept pulling away. To their infernal credit, the Emos polled back some respite by waning the last.
The Cankerwoes have to be snatched on to toss the good salad they surly are - they're not overtly endeared with toilets. The Emos steam slow in the legs and steam to get plown away eerily.
Next, the Cankers rake on the rompant Maddies in what could well be an absolute bardy of a game, while the Emos meet their match in the apron-string-wearing Poos in a bottle for the rotten spoon.
A highly hamstrung Bumbler unfit has gone down in a scrambling hope against a too smelly in the front have in a fleafloating bath at Telecom Dome. So grappling was the game, I nodded. Off.
Kempt in the gimp by their simion fall-back, the Bumblers made a good fist of their hand and jammed it up in the middle. The Dullbogs couldn't even get their mighty white ones on the pill jury this time.
The Dullbogs started on flier. The oily problem was that they couldn't pant the scare on the bored. When the Bumblers had cunnytroll they maid the moist of their pill and ran well forewarned.
The Balldigs stale have a sight problem with an uncertain slightness in their key pastes. Without some seize in there they mate straggle at times. The Bumblers will need to stop pulling ham.
The Daggies will meet and greet and then beat the Taggers when they snort out a few things, while the Bumblers will need to grease up if they're to slide paste the Stainers in a good clash.
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