Rotten Sun

Plunging into the wrong pastime tomorrow. For coins. Need certain arms to wrap my gift. Tip the scales. A twenty should do it. Apologise to the fish. Elope and sew hips. One of those jerks was standing at the foot of some obstacles screaming: "I need your lap!" He had a point. It was a stanley knife wrapped in a bum glove. I bade farewell and filled my accountant. He bought me a jet. I mastered it, flew it and found a spouse somewhere.