As I can pretty much tell by your blog title, sweetheart, you're a young woman. Dats da fak, Jak. You also shall never leave this earth unless sumbuddy which is moi, aussi does sumtin for you. So lemme tella youse summore which brings me to the antidote: Join me, follow us, wiseabove...
What's your address in Heaven, dear? Dunno? Mine's 111 Rock-Solid-Ave, Milky Weight, Seventh-Heaven. My sub/dude, neon mansion? Mama mia. A grandiose, exquisitely detailed, 3-acre-stuccoish home in a cul-de-sac with mountain-bike-trails we may conform with our thots. Why limit Almighty God? Why not fire-ALL-cylinders in one-fell-swoop? My intimacy with women Upstairs? Subtle, stupendous, fire-engine-zeal: skiing, surfin, sailing, snorklin, smmmokin, savvy, sassy space travel -to- scarlet symmetry! elegant ostentation! potent intoxication! technecolor satire to snuggle and serve: slow, soft, supersonic Sunday School which is an eXcellent, eXcessive eXaggeration of our lives woven together that's push-button, point-blank improv; a plethora of high-degree, Newtonian-laws-of-major league, victory laps where one force of kick-ass, party-hardy, white-water-rawness equals every, single, evening with wild knights, phorNphood, avatars, tender faeries, cereal killers and symbiotic, front-row-seats (subject to unofficial rules). Yes, of course! Baby making is most certaintly an option! ...yet, I gotta wanna see how She feels sharing me. My many planets? Gorgeous girls? Gott'm. Gotta lotta'm. Gotta gobba IQ, too, withe K2 orchestra only accessable to those with adolescent behavior: TOTALLY YOURS!!! How??? Gotta accept Jesus, missy!! Gotta. Wanna. Or you're sooo out-of-order, toots. Therefore, let's accelerate to the Maximum POW!er; let U.S. 'populate' the universe with i2i loyalty to the Bright Son. Wanna join me in God's wild Kingdome?? Chop, chop, dear. Time's running-out for us in this wee, existence finite PS: Time, as an entity, is also mortal: while thar aint no time in Seventh-Heaven, dollface... yet, puh-lenty of time to love due to the superior-supply-of-summer...
...cuzz the only other realm aint too cool: sweltering, cramped and Fugly rotten; Pokemon sawing-off your cranium with a chainsaw; nasty darkness, eternal starvation, Satan lies like a Persian rug; o'er-the-Hillary profusely cakkkling for eternity, no purchase necessary. How purrrecious! sez Gollum. 'Nuff sed. Decide NOW. Make Your Choice -SAW.
That is very possible.
ReplyDeletethey both suck
ReplyDeletethis would explain A LOT actually
ReplyDeleteWell it's pretty dam close.
ReplyDeleteThat just might be true.
ReplyDeleteAlso, if you like Bob Ross:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKcMfQrqC7I
Or even if you don't like the dude. This is simply funny.
you have made your point! lol
ReplyDeletehttp://psychoticfastfoodrants.blogspot.com/
http://loadsofwork.blogspot.com/
hehe, total look-alikes!
ReplyDeleteThe myth is finally scientifically explained....
ReplyDeleteThey're both ecstatically happy to the point that it's almost suspicious.
ReplyDeleteLol bob ross! nice one
ReplyDeletefollowing :3
I've always been jealous of the hair.
ReplyDeleteHi, Nice post I enjoyed reading it. Can I contact you through your email? Please email me back. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteThanks!
Joel
JHouston791@gmail.com
As I can pretty much tell by your blog title, sweetheart, you're a young woman. Dats da fak, Jak. You also shall never leave this earth unless sumbuddy which is moi, aussi does sumtin for you. So lemme tella youse summore which brings me to the antidote: Join me, follow us, wiseabove...
ReplyDeleteWhat's your address in Heaven, dear? Dunno? Mine's 111 Rock-Solid-Ave, Milky Weight, Seventh-Heaven. My sub/dude, neon mansion? Mama mia. A grandiose, exquisitely detailed, 3-acre-stuccoish home in a cul-de-sac with mountain-bike-trails we may conform with our thots. Why limit Almighty God? Why not fire-ALL-cylinders in one-fell-swoop? My intimacy with women Upstairs? Subtle, stupendous, fire-engine-zeal: skiing, surfin, sailing, snorklin, smmmokin, savvy, sassy space travel -to- scarlet symmetry! elegant ostentation! potent intoxication! technecolor satire to snuggle and serve: slow, soft, supersonic Sunday School which is an eXcellent, eXcessive eXaggeration of our lives woven together that's push-button, point-blank improv; a plethora of high-degree, Newtonian-laws-of-major league, victory laps where one force of kick-ass, party-hardy, white-water-rawness equals every, single, evening with wild knights, phorNphood, avatars, tender faeries, cereal killers and symbiotic, front-row-seats (subject to unofficial rules). Yes, of course! Baby making is most certaintly an option! ...yet, I gotta wanna see how She feels sharing me. My many planets? Gorgeous girls? Gott'm. Gotta lotta'm. Gotta gobba IQ, too, withe K2 orchestra only accessable to those with adolescent behavior: TOTALLY YOURS!!! How??? Gotta accept Jesus, missy!! Gotta. Wanna. Or you're sooo out-of-order, toots. Therefore, let's accelerate to the Maximum POW!er; let U.S. 'populate' the universe with i2i loyalty to the Bright Son. Wanna join me in God's wild Kingdome?? Chop, chop, dear. Time's running-out for us in this wee, existence finite PS: Time, as an entity, is also mortal: while thar aint no time in Seventh-Heaven, dollface... yet, puh-lenty of time to love due to the superior-supply-of-summer...
...cuzz the only other realm aint too cool: sweltering, cramped and Fugly rotten; Pokemon sawing-off your cranium with a chainsaw; nasty darkness, eternal starvation, Satan lies like a Persian rug; o'er-the-Hillary profusely cakkkling for eternity, no purchase necessary. How purrrecious! sez Gollum. 'Nuff sed. Decide NOW. Make Your Choice -SAW.
MyCrucifixIsMyFix.blogspot.com
trustNjesus