Certain rogues not wanting to be apron-wearing housewives wielding irons. A certain type of rogue... A certain rogue... .. Iron-maiden Spiked-iron-maintain Madein Madain Maidan Madeline Madelin Mandolin ..>Meddling. A certain quiet rogue... STationary, sitting still, waiting it out to pounce like an arachnid and flash quickly back, a sign of impropriety, a sign of stupidity, fetid fecund ravenous seething boil bole. RAvenous seeking gasbag. gass baguette Bagquette Baquette. Laying in wait, waiting in wait curds and whey. Waiting with iron cord drawn, at the ready for a greedy, needy, naughty, charged outlet. Out left, left out like cold food. laying in wei. A bushel of wei, he layth lay layeth in... .. A well deserved lugar, lugarresse. l ugarese. and humyum (and how!) :{ :P :p Tournequette Toutelage. Bungh Shu. Fren TAnque, Brisbon Bank-a-bank. Brisbomn. A certain type of rogue... A certain rogue... .. Not wanting to be apron-wearing wives wielding irons. Iron-maiden. Spiked-iron-maintenance. Handeling, Mending, Meddling. Madeline. A certain quiet rogue... Sationary, very still, set there on the wooden chair, Waiting it out to pounce like an arachnid and flash instantly back. A sign of impropriety, a sign of stupidity, a particular logic -an ology- A rodent crusher, a fetid fraud. Fecundant mice traps, frequently full of guile. A ravenous seething boil on the forehead. A ravenous seeking gasbag. Hands that have made baguettes with rosatia. Resting in wait, wading in curds and whey. Waiting with iron cord drawn, at the ready for a needy, naughty, charged outlet. Out left, deft, left out like cold food. Laying in whey, a bushel of whey, he layeth waiting... For a well deserved lugar, her being the lugaresse. The collection of oats is astounding, mashed into a cupbard, held stringently together with oak syrup, intestinal strings of it flowing out when opened. Not wanting to be apron-wearing wives wielding irons... I'm maide made out of mob concrete. If you're going to do something that no one's ever done before, just be sure you do it the right way. And go ahead and be your own french-eclair-revolution. And you feel that and cut your hair off, it all falling off on the floor orthogonally to your back feet. The mass hates turning the oven to 450 degrees, but declines anyone coming to the rescue. She sits there at the site of the stupidest shithole in the voluminous world, and cannot clean the over-destroyed, stained portal. Breast burger furniture mart, marked down from yum. The dealer dealt in fattened up breast couches and coochie coochie coos! A prophet profitting in his own right. They also had love seats in the shape of an upside down 'm.' With special edition side coin pouch saddlebags. She bites into a bradbury cane egg, the sugar attacks her aged, sensitive teeth joyously. She drinks a sip of blue hen milk. Her error hair cut quivered and sulked, still again. She donated her hair to the 'Live N' Give' on 19727th and Broadway. She sutured her hair wounds with Utter Love. Yew log, chop up of them, till fingers bled, she's a true artist, sacrificing all for her art and herbs and gert and radiant hair caught on fire. After that she fixed pizza upon frozen pizza with her squinty, sad smile and spider quickness. And she did it, with no Inquiry. The tv had on the local pariah watch. The serialists were playing in the background. Her hands Were herbacious and leguminous. A little mop-top rascal scurried behind her while she was sitting on the arm chair. She proclaimed to him, At my behest you'll fall, and fail, and toil, and just grow old, and age and lines will stream down your face like chiseled rock, and you'll harden and die. And rinse. I know you will not get by me. she thought, with her rockin' tits. maindain. Mandeling