Yes, Bough Breaker, I am that construction — the three-syllable conclusion to the above appropriation. Supposey it was borne from a mosey, innocently enough, and you'll be supposeying pretty closily. Of course, you'll know there's more — there always is —, but take that on board first, then yell. The answer, you know, was boldly Italian, and, yes, exclamated. Dreary me, deary you.
And so he went, off into the night, hands in pockets, pensive gaze in tow, daisy, of course, in hand, prepared with a joke: The love of a good women? Oh no; I want the love of a great one.
Duck, Duck, Cockatiel
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The move is officially complete, though I'm still living with a few islands
of stuff—the main one located in what agents like to call the "meals area".
Rea...
7 years ago
2 comments:
Wait, what? There's a One in this country? (Or indeed anywhere?) Nice stab, Ben, but this was far too insular for anything more than cold speculation, like at least 90% of the stuff here. Psychology-wise, you can garner a good degree, but fact-wise, you're in the fog. Usually you know which field it's in, and certainly you can guess, but the more mud I sling, the harder it is to see in. And especially, as in this case, when facts led to fiction.
Your second comment sounds like it's in the wrong post.
And nor shall I. As women across the world have urged, keep it up.
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