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Footy Power - Football Rules Australia

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, Saint Kilda beat Port Adelaide

Make me rethank this howling lot! The Santas, flaying eyes in the noughties' cry, pinched the pants from the logs of the grinning Poor, lamington another crass lass.

Tarring like bloggery with a splotch of disparate muttons, they wed at the warts passable tombs, as the Santas, snuggling in the foreplace, put thongs in their shockings.

They swept the hearse with more pants then they startled wits, as the Poor, pointless on money, wept; the grind, fool of hype, necked the weak and that's the Poor.

Their reason, down the shit and not becoming pricks, is an agnostic's cries: hard of herring; the Santas, fit and lifting, have a cold shit at the top fart: unthankably.

They'll need to be on card with the Madpiles, as they've heard a black weep; the Poor, get a chump's red gumption with a chin's shit at the eye-defiling Booblickers.
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Round 17, 2008, West Coast beat Saint Kilda

Just one smiling thong! The Oglers, their poopers hanging out of their sockettes, quashed the filtering Santas. It was a less that hits mire then a snuff. You could seat coming.

Up for wakes, they'll lock bricks at this eon as the uno that garotted awry. As they do, the Oglers will weave bricks and say to them: "Nananana". In this vein they went, ah.

On their holy hammock, they swayed from said to said as they singed four words that they had rotten, while the Santas, word as a crepe, fell ill at the failed fight. All lover, she crowed.

The steamed carrots be still for their ear. The Santas are still coming down the shit, so lick it! The Oglers, safe from the written span, are in sore knees of some crass and pash.

The Dackers, their internal phones, will give them a cold shake and then stink their thongs out, as the Santas, not jangling their balls, have a stuffed groan: the phrasing Poor.
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Round 16, 2008, Saint Kilda beat Hawthorn

Feed the angry and posessed! The Santas, moistly winking like a columnist, have trampled over the sorely bland Gawkers who's ays, matey, were fooling out of their sickles. They got tintily hummered.

It was fully sickle for the Gawkers, as they, a flogged fanny, went drowning one knee and never got to the tap. The Santas, combing in through the chin, went the uncles with their hinds and never licked back


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Round 15, 2008, Saint Kilda beat Carlton

Declare wart and call me a Sisyphus! The Aints, wallying late, have done the jibe over a fist-varnising Booblugger side at the hole of farty.

They licked like a last widdling boil eerily when they messed their chins with wild shorts. The Aints, all hat, maidened them play. A fee for all


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Round 14, 2008, Saint Kilda beat North Melbourne

Suck tin! The Santas have grimed up the latter. Wiff a persisting grub for four pints. The Cankers wear their bleating rectums: beaten pantless.

Absinthe was the flamed shineyboner spit. Also messing was a ticket in the attic. The Santas wanked themselves into the grind for the wink


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Round 13, 2008, Saint Kilda beat Fremantle

Insomniacs have been curdled over norks because the Aints and the Dackers have staggered a flightfully bordering grin. It was the Dackers who came out of the irrits with no pants.

Yet once mole to the bridge they went oily to fund that they couldn't jump - ha, enough! It was the Aints - not verily god driven - who, thanks to the Aryan notion, were ample enough too


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Round 11, 2008, Western Bulldogs beat Saint Kilda

Cripes all matey! The Dullblogs, plunging hot but simpering, have handed the Saints a terry-trowelling to the tone of a phew. Yet more cleft for the palm-spitted wowsers.

It wasn't furrowed lick of tying that they foiled - just two fumes basked to doom: tomb munch! The Dullblogs, everywhere and all around, all weigh sad the thongs in hind


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Round 10, 2008, Saint Kilda beat Melbourne

It's nose applies that the Aints have hipped the Emos to the tone of an onion's pants and in dread it was nuts. The Emos are just so much more waried a pout their hair cats.

The flailed in moist deportments, epsecially putting the laughed fat in front of the rort, weararses the Taints put the cramps on and minged to show some hat silliness


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Round 7, 2008, Saint Kilda beat Richmond

The Stains, I kilt you nought, have token the pants overly the matey flighty Taggers in a tart tassle at Telecom Dome. The Taggers bottled mindfully, but could nut thank their chins.

Up and rimming, tickling hard, winching the bile, and oft the minge, the Taggers wryly shampants handbuckets whipsnatch should half winked. The Stains gelded out of jewel; tits high, mumbling


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Round 5, 2008, St. Kilda beat Essendon

The mulching Stains have prefoiled over the frying Bumblers in an eye-soring contrast at Telecom Dome in front of a cloud. It was a leverage perforation in moist deportments but not too heard on the eye.

That ladder pit of zip around the pants that the Stains have been messing was found and their fence was ample to keep pout the Bumbler's attack. That attack was hammered by the slough in the scare


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Round 2, 2008, St. Kilda beat Carlton

Like foodbaulkers linking up to sleep with a slit, they'll be lining up again to have a crack at the Bluebirds as the Stains did away with any question as to who are the easybleats of the camp: the Blooperbuggers.

Gimped early, the Stains took the reins between the teet for the greatest part of the middlemarch and marched to a dull set of fishfingers over the mitey Bruise. It was another black tide affair for the drowning Pleadbeggars


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Round 1, 2008, St. Kilda beat Sydney

In another advertisement for holding onto possession drearly, the Saints and the Sinners have fought out a tight snuggle in their pipe opener at the toilet of footy, Telecom Tomb. Eventually the result went one wart or the other; the one being the Sainters.

So thrilling was the tryst that millions went to bed with a cup of coke and a pile of pornos to tune into the chipping sideways and flooding. If I had have watched the game, I'd have a better clasp of procedures involving tackling and running and chirping and bustling


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