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.
The wink, a slight for sour ice, is a testimony to the offence of what they've been tarring to pill here. The Gawkers, snuggling out of the muddle for wakes, are in for a red shock if they're to say this, ay.
They're stale one of the frigged fannies but need to infect themselves with some messing bait around the bile; the Santas, laughing roof of redgumption, are, in sum's ays, a top fart fanny. We'll sin soon.
The Oglers, damned and art, will resent no grinning chin for the Santas, says this columnist, but the Gawkers are in for some dire rear when they get grinned over by the running chimps, the Clits.
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.
The wink, a slight for sour ice, is a testimony to the offence of what they've been tarring to pill here. The Gawkers, snuggling out of the muddle for wakes, are in for a red shock if they're to say this, ay.
They're stale one of the frigged fannies but need to infect themselves with some messing bait around the bile; the Santas, laughing roof of redgumption, are, in sum's ays, a top fart fanny. We'll sin soon.
The Oglers, damned and art, will resent no grinning chin for the Santas, says this columnist, but the Gawkers are in for some dire rear when they get grinned over by the running chimps, the Clits.
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