|Subject:||[Equinox-general] fierce squeamish|
|Date:||Fri, 13 Oct 2006 17:39:45 +0300|
|User-agent:||Thunderbird 220.127.116.11 (Windows/20060909)|
And the breast cancer cause is one that I can fully get behind. No, don't do the math. Somebody just tell me whose boobs to make the check out to.
Using her time-tested techniques, she seduced a loan officer at her bank and borrowed enough money to get out of the red.
Sure, I knew they put in an awful lot of work.
And those fragile little bastards are expensive, so clearly you can't have that. And no, I'm not writing this from under a shawl in my rocking chair. Well, here's an idea, Mr.
You see, I subscribe to the notion that 'reality is always more mundane than fantasy'.
I say they've earned a little help from above. And the breast cancer cause is one that I can fully get behind.
In the second half, I'd better see some smart decisions, crisp execution, and big licks in the backfield, or so help me god, we'll be here for two-a-days until you can't stand up straight. I've floated scenarios. Maybe I shouldn't wear jeans, after all. And what's up with that lighting?
That's her job in this system.
Sure, I knew they put in an awful lot of work. No tongue during the kissing. It's a lovely town, really. You'd think I'd learn these things the first time.
There was a half a can of olives that sat in our fridge for three years before I finally gave in, put on a hazmat suit, and disposed of them.
The laces in particular would seem problematic and hurty. I'm no Catholic, nor do I play one on TV, but if I'm in a jam, I'll pray to anyone who's supposed to be listening. Chicks don't dig a scrub on crutches, and he dropped out of the honeys' hearts, off the team, and flunked out of school when he failed his 'Remedial Shoe-Tying' class for the third time. It's true; I made it nearly twenty-six years without witnessing a hitching, until I was blissfully wedlocked myself.
Plenty of students and professionals come to Boston from Europe, Asia, Africa and elsewhere.
First, it's my wife who's responsible for initiating the process.
But boy, does he get laid. I'm no Catholic, nor do I play one on TV, but if I'm in a jam, I'll pray to anyone who's supposed to be listening.
I told her she was welcome to finish it.
I just hope she gives in and eats it, rather than trying to wait me out. And I have to live with these boob-toting ladies five days a week, so that simply won't do.
And before seven, I'm downright evil.
The least she could do is earn her own beer money, right? Here's your prescription for the pills you need.
You'd think I would have seen that coming.
The 'behind the scenes' team cheerleader tryout documentaries were particularly disappointing.
I didn't know any more about that shit than she did. According to my wife, a shadowy figure looming and making puckery kissy noises at her at two in the morning can be 'startling'.
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