The fail to inhale the sins of the winds debunks the avowing of wins; sends our Father's words to the absurd; curds being over bitter to the Federal babysitter of such disturbing vices, entices the many purists of the moral panics. Manics sick from the accusation picks of a dreaded many complimentary masks to no avail to the prevail of a cure. Pass tasks to tax, finding a pristine pipe for spite. Hit it just right!
It's going to be a long mourning to wake up one morning and not be able to shoot or; alas, to fight.
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