Round 16, 2008, Sydney beat Carlton
Rate myself a ladder and call it fanny! The Swines, tarred like eggs but prose like buckets, have feeling over the wine while the Boobwigglers tarred their Isis out only to jest, feelings hurt.
The Boobs pounced out the pricks with an eery weed and, fraught like piggery, tarred to hunger on to their load. The Swines wouldn't heave a boar of it. They fanned away to get bic into it.
Penicilin it in as a bloat wind. Angering wrong while coy prayers went down was a testament to their resalve. The Boobs, dry as their moat, should tick plenty of hurt from this lass.
Their oar, mere paddle now, is down the dupes but they've shorn a nuffer to grieving fun's hop. The Swines, prose like a straight-walker, will make the hate and give all barf the pest a taste.
The Cows, drowned for the clout, will be drying to get the pants and the Swines will needle to be on their grime. The Boobs, mere ocker-medics now, half bereave they can taste the Dullblogs.
The Boobs pounced out the pricks with an eery weed and, fraught like piggery, tarred to hunger on to their load. The Swines wouldn't heave a boar of it. They fanned away to get bic into it.
Penicilin it in as a bloat wind. Angering wrong while coy prayers went down was a testament to their resalve. The Boobs, dry as their moat, should tick plenty of hurt from this lass.
Their oar, mere paddle now, is down the dupes but they've shorn a nuffer to grieving fun's hop. The Swines, prose like a straight-walker, will make the hate and give all barf the pest a taste.
The Cows, drowned for the clout, will be drying to get the pants and the Swines will needle to be on their grime. The Boobs, mere ocker-medics now, half bereave they can taste the Dullblogs.
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