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rhymegirl
04-16-2005, 12:55 AM
Let's go back to only 3 words at a time. It's more of a challenge. Here's the beginning:


Police responded immediately.

rhymegirl
04-16-2005, 01:42 AM
Let's start over. You have to add on to the story. The police have arrived; why are they there?


Police responded immediately.

Wendy J
04-16-2005, 02:58 AM
Everyone was terrified.



(Sorry, I didn't know it was a story thread!)

Gehanna
04-16-2005, 03:13 AM
Does it have to be a complete sentence within the limit of 3 words?

three seven
04-16-2005, 03:15 AM
No. You just add the next three words to the existing story. Like this...

three seven
04-16-2005, 03:17 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of

Gehanna
04-16-2005, 03:17 AM
ok then here's my 3 words:

..the angry Mime.

three seven
04-16-2005, 03:18 AM
The three words should ideally follow on from the previous three ;)

EDIT: nicely corrected ;)

You should also copy the existing text into your post so people don't have to read pages and pages...

Gehanna
04-16-2005, 03:22 AM
Ok, will do. :)

wurdwise
04-16-2005, 03:38 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been

rhymegirl
04-16-2005, 04:06 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over

three seven
04-16-2005, 04:14 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but

Rob-rite
04-16-2005, 04:21 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear

rhymegirl
04-16-2005, 04:25 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were

three seven
04-16-2005, 04:26 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until

rhymegirl
04-16-2005, 04:32 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was

bjewel77
04-16-2005, 04:45 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over

Gehanna
04-16-2005, 05:05 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

wurdwise
04-16-2005, 05:18 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it

rhymegirl
04-17-2005, 01:26 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him.

three seven
04-17-2005, 01:37 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an

rhymegirl
04-17-2005, 01:41 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck who

wurdwise
04-17-2005, 01:45 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, who I had suspected

three seven
04-17-2005, 01:47 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with

rhymegirl
04-17-2005, 01:54 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans.

three seven
04-17-2005, 01:57 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say,

rhymegirl
04-17-2005, 01:58 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

three seven
04-17-2005, 01:59 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however,








(1000 posts! It's now official... I have no life!)

rhymegirl
04-17-2005, 02:05 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue.











(1000 posts! It's now official... I have no life!)[/QUOTE]

three seven
04-17-2005, 02:07 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over

wurdwise
04-17-2005, 02:10 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as

three seven
04-17-2005, 02:12 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a

wurdwise
04-17-2005, 02:13 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone

scullars
04-17-2005, 02:35 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my alarm system

three seven
04-17-2005, 02:39 AM
There's always one... :Smack:

wurdwise
04-17-2005, 02:40 AM
:D

rhymegirl
04-17-2005, 04:39 AM
?

three seven
04-17-2005, 04:50 AM
We were at...


Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone


<hic>

rhymegirl
04-17-2005, 04:57 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I

three seven
04-17-2005, 05:06 AM
That was two words Kate.

rhymegirl
04-17-2005, 05:13 AM
Sorry. I'm not thinking too good. I fixed it.

scullars
04-17-2005, 05:15 AM
There's always one... :Smack:

Oooops, didn't see the second page... Thought I was at the end. My bad.:Shrug:

bjewel77
04-17-2005, 05:18 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever enough

scullars
04-17-2005, 05:19 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever enough to plant a

Celeste
04-17-2005, 05:19 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene.

three seven
04-17-2005, 05:21 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on

scullars
04-17-2005, 05:25 AM
OK, I'm confused.

Sarita
04-17-2005, 06:17 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper

Rose Red
04-17-2005, 10:29 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair

Sarita
04-17-2005, 10:31 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald

bjewel77
04-18-2005, 12:10 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made

Sarita
04-18-2005, 12:40 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday. He

maestrowork
04-18-2005, 01:25 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday. He
had eaten pancakes

wurdwise
04-18-2005, 02:16 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen

rhymegirl
04-18-2005, 02:19 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while

bjewel77
04-18-2005, 02:58 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper

three seven
04-18-2005, 03:10 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one

bjewel77
04-18-2005, 03:19 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I

Rob-rite
04-18-2005, 03:25 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people

three seven
04-18-2005, 03:26 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with

bjewel77
04-18-2005, 03:41 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open.

rhymegirl
04-18-2005, 04:56 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

Ella
04-18-2005, 08:38 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my

mudflat_marsh_hawk
04-18-2005, 09:47 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan

Jewel101
04-18-2005, 10:46 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him

three seven
04-18-2005, 10:50 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss

tjwriter
04-18-2005, 01:03 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head.

three seven
04-18-2005, 03:28 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me

Sarita
04-18-2005, 04:29 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle

rhymegirl
04-18-2005, 05:05 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot

three seven
04-18-2005, 05:58 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the

Sarita
04-18-2005, 06:15 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when

three seven
04-18-2005, 06:18 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping.

Sarita
04-18-2005, 06:20 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor

three seven
04-18-2005, 06:22 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to

Sarita
04-18-2005, 06:26 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head

Sarita
04-18-2005, 06:30 PM
Bev-you might want to edit... ;)

bjewel77
04-18-2005, 06:32 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly

Sarita
04-18-2005, 06:37 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor

thistle
04-18-2005, 06:39 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly by the dog's

Sarita
04-18-2005, 06:43 PM
This just isn't work :cry:

rhymegirl
04-18-2005, 06:47 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped

Sarita
04-18-2005, 06:53 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of

(thanks kate ;) )

rhymegirl
04-18-2005, 07:04 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped

Sarita
04-18-2005, 07:05 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's

three seven
04-18-2005, 07:12 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his

rhymegirl
04-18-2005, 07:12 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up

Sarita
04-18-2005, 07:18 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking

three seven
04-18-2005, 07:31 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner

Sarita
04-18-2005, 07:31 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining

three seven
04-18-2005, 07:32 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night.

Sarita
04-18-2005, 07:33 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted

rhymegirl
04-18-2005, 07:37 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my

Sarita
04-18-2005, 07:41 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and

three seven
04-18-2005, 07:44 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s

Sarita
04-18-2005, 07:50 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal

three seven
04-18-2005, 07:59 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed

rhymegirl
04-18-2005, 08:03 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away

three seven
04-18-2005, 08:15 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs

Rose Red
04-18-2005, 08:15 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away, blood seeping through

three seven
04-18-2005, 08:16 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through

three seven
04-18-2005, 08:22 PM
Ohhhh Sara! We were doing so well!

Sarita
04-18-2005, 08:31 PM
Sorry, Three. I threw off the rhythm! Did you both type the same thing?

three seven
04-18-2005, 08:38 PM
No, I reposted to include both since Rose's bit didn't conflict with mine.

Sarita
04-18-2005, 08:42 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving

three seven
04-18-2005, 08:44 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in

rhymegirl
04-18-2005, 08:45 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess

bjewel77
04-18-2005, 09:00 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him

Sarita
04-18-2005, 09:04 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie

bjewel77
04-18-2005, 09:20 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope

rhymegirl
04-18-2005, 11:24 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost

Ella
04-18-2005, 11:51 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel,

bjewel77
04-19-2005, 01:17 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What

rhymegirl
04-19-2005, 01:56 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is

Sarita
04-19-2005, 01:57 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how

rhymegirl
04-19-2005, 02:04 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucker

three seven
04-19-2005, 02:23 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly?

mdmkay
04-19-2005, 02:31 AM
So far you guys are doing really execellent............really........

Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his

rhymegirl
04-19-2005, 02:34 AM
[QUOTE=mdmkay]So far you guys are doing really execellent............really........

Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed

Sarita
04-19-2005, 02:39 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the

three seven
04-19-2005, 02:41 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy,

Sarita
04-19-2005, 02:43 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say

three seven
04-19-2005, 02:46 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard

Sarita
04-19-2005, 02:48 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I

three seven
04-19-2005, 02:49 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically

Sarita
04-19-2005, 02:50 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit

wurdwise
04-19-2005, 02:52 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on

three seven
04-19-2005, 02:54 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's

Ella
04-19-2005, 03:01 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there

rhymegirl
04-19-2005, 03:05 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops

Sarita
04-19-2005, 03:12 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in

rhymegirl
04-19-2005, 03:30 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile I escaped!

wurdwise
04-19-2005, 03:55 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile I escaped! Though they didn't

bjewel77
04-19-2005, 03:57 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile I escaped! Scrambling to the

wurdwise
04-19-2005, 08:31 AM
ok, bjewel, to keep this puppy going, I guess since my post was first, we'll go with it, seems fair. Agreed?

three seven
04-19-2005, 11:03 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then,

Celeste
04-19-2005, 11:21 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching

Sarita
04-19-2005, 02:00 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley

rhymegirl
04-19-2005, 06:31 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars.

wurdwise
04-19-2005, 06:34 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still

three seven
04-19-2005, 06:54 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look

maestrowork
04-19-2005, 06:57 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient,

three seven
04-19-2005, 06:58 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around

wurdwise
04-19-2005, 07:00 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops!

Sarita
04-19-2005, 07:02 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking

maestrowork
04-19-2005, 07:05 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece

Sarita
04-19-2005, 07:07 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I

maestrowork
04-19-2005, 07:09 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away

three seven
04-19-2005, 07:12 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to

maestrowork
04-19-2005, 07:20 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies'

Sarita
04-19-2005, 07:35 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived

three seven
04-19-2005, 07:37 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little

maestrowork
04-19-2005, 07:38 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across

three seven
04-19-2005, 07:41 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from

maestrowork
04-19-2005, 07:42 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion

three seven
04-19-2005, 07:43 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's

maestrowork
04-19-2005, 07:44 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You

rhymegirl
04-19-2005, 07:51 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what

three seven
04-19-2005, 07:53 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's

maestrowork
04-19-2005, 07:55 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy

three seven
04-19-2005, 07:58 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs

maestrowork
04-19-2005, 08:00 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder

rhymegirl
04-19-2005, 08:04 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity

wurdwise
04-19-2005, 08:14 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would

maestrowork
04-19-2005, 08:16 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain

rhymegirl
04-20-2005, 12:50 AM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead,

maestrowork
04-20-2005, 01:38 AM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you

Sarita
04-20-2005, 01:44 AM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating

rhymegirl
04-20-2005, 02:52 AM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has

Ella
04-20-2005, 09:09 AM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has since I grew

maestrowork
04-20-2005, 09:37 AM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has since I grew accustomed to Alice's

BlakeOvard
04-20-2005, 09:40 AM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and

bjewel77
04-20-2005, 09:49 AM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching

BlakeOvard
04-20-2005, 09:51 AM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear.

bjewel77
04-20-2005, 10:30 AM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way

poetinahat
04-20-2005, 12:17 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my

rhymegirl
04-20-2005, 03:26 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote

wurdwise
04-20-2005, 04:52 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping

rhymegirl
04-20-2005, 05:06 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help

BlakeOvard
04-20-2005, 05:34 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green

wurdwise
04-20-2005, 09:53 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing

rhymegirl
04-20-2005, 09:59 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But

bjewel77
04-20-2005, 10:00 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so

rhymegirl
04-20-2005, 10:05 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never

bjewel77
04-20-2005, 10:09 PM
The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me.

wurdwise
04-20-2005, 10:31 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with

rhymegirl
04-20-2005, 11:05 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from

bjewel77
04-21-2005, 12:03 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk

wurdwise
04-21-2005, 12:06 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been

mudflat_marsh_hawk
04-21-2005, 02:27 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes

Rob-rite
04-21-2005, 02:41 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks

three seven
04-21-2005, 02:48 AM
Stedman. Fred had beenOne, two, three, fo... hey, wait a minute!

wurdwise
04-21-2005, 02:50 AM
what do you mean, wait a minute? Should I have started a new paragraph? I was trying to get back to Fred and interfering with my business plans, the reason for his murder, he was partners with Stedman! Can't anyone read my mind? :D

three seven
04-21-2005, 02:54 AM
Um... no, I was merely pointing out that there are four words there.

three seven
04-21-2005, 02:56 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of

wurdwise
04-21-2005, 02:56 AM
Oh.....

rhymegirl
04-21-2005, 03:03 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no

three seven
04-21-2005, 03:04 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well,

rhymegirl
04-21-2005, 03:07 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me.

three seven
04-21-2005, 03:12 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash

rhymegirl
04-21-2005, 03:15 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for

wurdwise
04-21-2005, 03:17 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of

rhymegirl
04-21-2005, 03:23 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred

bjewel77
04-21-2005, 04:41 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly

poetinahat
04-21-2005, 05:21 AM
He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth,

BlakeOvard
04-21-2005, 07:21 AM
He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting

maestrowork
04-21-2005, 07:47 AM
He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test

wurdwise
04-21-2005, 07:53 AM
He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big

Patricia
04-21-2005, 07:59 AM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be

BlakeOvard
04-21-2005, 08:23 AM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the

Patricia
04-21-2005, 08:26 AM
He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show

wurdwise
04-21-2005, 08:30 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.
Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die.

lindylou45
04-21-2005, 08:57 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like

Elonna
04-21-2005, 09:06 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks

BlakeOvard
04-21-2005, 09:11 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like

Patricia
04-21-2005, 10:19 AM
Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast.

BlakeOvard
04-21-2005, 10:32 AM
Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even

poetinahat
04-21-2005, 10:33 AM
Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. I snarled at

BlakeOvard
04-21-2005, 10:35 AM
Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even

Patricia
04-21-2005, 10:46 AM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to

rhymegirl
04-21-2005, 03:45 PM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

three seven
04-21-2005, 03:53 PM
fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting

but I do like
Ok, I'm just reading the title of this thread again to make sure I'm not missing anything....

New... Uh-huh... 3... ok... word... right... post. Hmm.

That's what I thought. '3-word post.' Huh.

Uhhh...

Nope, sorry. I've read it half a dozen times now and I still can't see where it says post as many words as you damn well like!!!

From now on, anyone unable to count to three will be banned from joining in!

It's not rocket science...

wurdwise
04-21-2005, 04:49 PM
Well, while we're on the subject of how to do it, aren't you supposed to cut and paste the whole story? People keep just picking up any odd place, and the purpose, I thought, besides having fun, was to always be able for anyone to read the last entry as a full story, ongoing. Correct me if I'm wrong.

Patricia
04-21-2005, 07:10 PM
Correct me if I'm wrong.

Hi, wurdwise, I don't know that you are wrong. However, when I've played this game in the past, we have eliminated the first paragraph to keep each window from being too long. To read the whole thing one would go to the first post, and that way they would also be reminded that it is a "3 word" story game.

It doesn't take any longer to read each post than it does to read the last one. It also helps to eliminate any chances of double additions to the same post.

bjewel77
04-21-2005, 07:29 PM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back

rhymegirl
04-21-2005, 09:29 PM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I

lindylou45
04-21-2005, 10:38 PM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead,

maestrowork
04-21-2005, 11:09 PM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply

rhymegirl
04-21-2005, 11:13 PM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He

maestrowork
04-21-2005, 11:17 PM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t

rhymegirl
04-22-2005, 12:16 AM
]I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden.

rhymegirl
04-22-2005, 12:23 AM
I had already written IN MY GARDEN

rhymegirl
04-22-2005, 12:25 AM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden.

Patricia
04-22-2005, 01:58 AM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have

Elonna
04-22-2005, 02:46 AM
I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork forthe love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decied to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me

bjewel77
04-22-2005, 05:57 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me if my petunias

BlakeOvard
04-22-2005, 10:51 AM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me if my petunias wouldn't have sprouted

Yeshanu
04-22-2005, 03:35 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me if my petunias wouldn't have sprouted brown flowers. Now



(Is it just me, or is part of this story repeated? If someone who's been here all along would edit, I'd appreciate it...)

wurdwise
04-22-2005, 05:25 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me if my petunias wouldn't have sprouted brown flowers. Now our business plan,

bjewel77
04-22-2005, 05:44 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me if my petunias wouldn't have sprouted brown flowers. Now our business plan, although not well

wurdwise
04-22-2005, 06:16 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me if my petunias wouldn't have sprouted brown flowers. Now our business plan, although not well organized, would have

lindylou45
04-22-2005, 08:42 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me if my petunias wouldn't have sprouted brown flowers. Now our business plan, although not well organized, would have made us money.

wurdwise
04-22-2005, 09:02 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me if my petunias wouldn't have sprouted brown flowers. Now our business plan, although not well organized, would have made us money, lots of money.

BlakeOvard
04-22-2005, 10:32 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me if my petunias wouldn't have sprouted brown flowers. Now our business plan, although not well organized, would have made us money, lots of money. Unfortunately the amount

maestrowork
04-22-2005, 10:58 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me if my petunias wouldn't have sprouted brown flowers. Now our business plan, although not well organized, would have made us money, lots of money. Unfortunately the amount wouldn't have covered

BlakeOvard
04-22-2005, 11:00 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me if my petunias wouldn't have sprouted brown flowers. Now our business plan, although not well organized, would have made us money, lots of money. Unfortunately the amount wouldn't have covered the surgery that

maestrowork
04-22-2005, 11:03 PM
Blake... three words. 3.

BlakeOvard
04-22-2005, 11:18 PM
Blake... three words. 3.
sorry. couldn't remember if the "the" was there before I started...I'll fix with an edit.

three seven
04-22-2005, 11:40 PM
Seriously Blake, how many times? Thin ice!

Sarita
04-22-2005, 11:59 PM
Police responded immediately. The sound of gunshots had been heard all over the neighbourhood, but it wasn't clear where they were coming from until a body was discovered dangling over my neighbor's fence.

Fred had it coming to him. He was an odd duck, whom I had suspected of interfering with my business plans. Needless to say, I killed him.

The cops, however, had no clue. They swarmed over my neighborhood, as organised as a passle of Keystone Cops. But I was clever fleeing the scene. I threw on a blue jumper, combed my hair over the bald area Fred made just yesterday.

He had eaten pancakes in my kitchen, chewing loudly while reading the newspaper. If there's one thing that I hate, it's people who eat with their mouth open. Okay, I snapped!

I grabbed my hot frying pan and bopped him upside his dumb*ss Trump combover head. He gave me quite a struggle, so I shot him in the foot. That's when he started hopping. The electric razor he'd used to buzz my head was flopping madly on the floor. Fred accidentally stepped on top of it and zapped himself silly. That's how come his hair frizzed up and started smoking, something the coroner had difficulty explaining later that night. With Fred distracted, I reloaded my gun, aimed and pumped his a*s full of metal.

He still managed to slink away up the stairs, blood seeping through his trousers, leaving the carpet in a bloody mess. I found him trying to tie a sheet rope to the bedpost.

Brutally ugly Rapunzel, I thought. What the hell is this? And how does the sucka like to fly? I grabbed his shirt and pushed him out the f**king window. Boy, when I say that old bastard could fly, I mean he practically went into orbit before landing on Bob and Jeanie's fence, stuck there until the cops were called in.

Meanwhile, I escaped. Though they didn't know it then, I was watching from the alley with my binoculars. Clueless, but still determined to look competent and efficient, they bumbled around like bees. Cops! Instead of sticking like a piece of gum, I peeled myself away to attend to the old ladies' cat. They lived in the little insane asylum across the street from Martha Stewart's mansion. At least that's Bea's story. You can believe what you like, she's done some crazy amount of drugs.

You may wonder about MY sanity. Don't. It would blow your brain to bits. Instead, I'd tell you how absolutely frustrating my life has been since I grew accustomed to Alice's constant belching and her cat scratching on my underwear. Needing a way to explain my feelings, I wrote Dr. Phil, hoping he could help stop the green blobs from appearing at night. But, he was so busy he never bothered answering me, too busy with stealing Oprah from that great hunk Stedman. Fred had been eating my pancakes with his chopsticks on account of I had no clean cutlery. Well, that bugged me. I mean, wash a damn fork for the love of God. But Fred, barn-raised and possibly addicted to filth, fornication, chocolate, and stamp collecting, decided to test my patience.

Big reason to be featured on the Jerry Springer Show or to die. I don't like pancakes or chopsticks, but I do like beer with breakfast. Sometimes I even add beer to my cereal. Yum!

Anyway, getting back to why I shot Fred dead -- the bastard simply deserved it. He used to sh!t in my garden. Which would have not bothered me if my petunias wouldn't have sprouted brown flowers. Now our business plan, although not well organized, would have made us money, lots of money. Unfortunately the amount wouldn't have covered the surgery that the plan required