Anywho, it seems that my friend Cayleigh had a crush on me. Kind of like me and Kim, but much more awkward. Oh well.
Not too much else happened...swashbuckle...now that's got me thinking...*looks up in dictionary*
It seems that it isn't a noun, unless you mean swashbuckler. Swashbuckle is to work, behave, or perform as a swashbuckler...intertresting.
swash·buck·ler
[swosh-buhk-ler, swawsh-] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun a swaggering swordsman, soldier, or adventurer; daredevilWow, this makes what Josi said slightly dirtier...
Damn, I should really start on Steph's song...screw it, I'm writing my own :D
7 comments:
Yum. DAMN!!! I have to re-insert the thread into the needle again.
Got any ideas? Don't.
Ahahaha, sorry even unintentionally I am slightly dirty. I can't help that. It's in my nature.
Oh, gee. Just abandon my poem like that, thanks.
I suppose it'll stay a poem for good then. I like it better like that, to tell you the truth.
Once upon a time there was a bottle of nunchuks sitting on my kitchen table.
I didn't know what to do with it so I decided that incinerating a dead nougat would be the best idea. And I did! Hooray, hooray, hooray.
VWiNG! Hippo.
Did you know if you were to drink the nunchucks on your table you could reincarnate that dead nougat into a toad? Just an intresting passing comment.
No, it wouldn't work. Lemon bottles get really jealous of toadstools when they're reincarnated.
Or was it the disinfectant that decided to scream "COME TO THE DARK SIDE, WE HAVE NUDISTS" on that chili Tuesday afternoon?
Eat my broccoli patch. Does it come with cantaloupes? That...sounds so wrong, it's unbearable.
Not that broccoli patches are bare. AHHH. MUST...STOP...MYSELF. *slaps self*
I've decided to go to bed now. BLOODY HELL, IT'S ALREADY 1:09!!! Bugger off.
And the brittish accent invades once again!!! Oh yes I do enjoy a good window cleaner on toast, but why must we clean our toilets when the ductape dances? Is it too much to ask for a little bit of colslaw? Come on people feel the muddy rainboots of winter and taste the assinine forests, the gold fish call to you, "Free yourself from the fanged mango before it's too late!"
And then silence, only broken by the schreeching of an old tomato can standing on a voilin's tale.
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