A Journey Into The Soles Of Mans
Two, day many people are asking me from whence I am come? Of course, it is still tiny. To be the asnswer, I musting admit there was a cradle that was being robbed and also I was inside it. Through I was only a young lad, I can see through the hazy ski at my captivator. It was none other than...HARRY WINKLER!
YES THAT HARRY WINKLER! ALIVE AND TO TELL THE DAY!
Yes, the Fonzerrella helded me under his effeminate femurs and the blackened jacket leather bathed me in an aroma of could-have-beens. Failure smelles like Happy Days. He tolded me, "Never reminder a chicken blue." I have never forgot this sage's wisedome.
The Fonzerella and I flew to Rome on Sattursday and gambled away the knight dressed as manaquins for papal robes. I am still remmemmbering that soft Mediteraneen wind blowing over the Fonzerella bouffants, splaying Afro-Sheen on terra cotta. Ah Rome! He said to me, "Oranges blanket a tommorow burger," as the gunman approached, silencers pricking out of their Armani janckets like erections. I remmemmber myself lunging out of the baby bowl like the nursury rime on the tree canopy, only the hefty papal robes held me down, as I was blended by the conehat over my eyes. All was blood and carnage.
Fare thie well, sweat prince, I thaut. You have jumped thine last shark. After that, all was dark ness until daybreak in Tirana. The Fonzerella, I new, was daed. The Mujahadeen El-Falrouq held this town and it would be months before the next UN truck passed throu. I ddropped, the papal robes in a tree and decided to run for it. I new an egg hatcher outside of Belgrade and decided to make the highcke. My daipers needed changed and there were crusts in my eyes. It looked like the teat had runned dried.
BUTT ANON! A frendly Kevin Nealon impersonator told me to climb upon his back and siad, "I'm on on my waying to Celebrity Poker. You can I find a seat as long as you are chearing for my outdated humor jokes. I say okay and that is the story of how I got two America.
YES THAT HARRY WINKLER! ALIVE AND TO TELL THE DAY!
Yes, the Fonzerrella helded me under his effeminate femurs and the blackened jacket leather bathed me in an aroma of could-have-beens. Failure smelles like Happy Days. He tolded me, "Never reminder a chicken blue." I have never forgot this sage's wisedome.
The Fonzerella and I flew to Rome on Sattursday and gambled away the knight dressed as manaquins for papal robes. I am still remmemmbering that soft Mediteraneen wind blowing over the Fonzerella bouffants, splaying Afro-Sheen on terra cotta. Ah Rome! He said to me, "Oranges blanket a tommorow burger," as the gunman approached, silencers pricking out of their Armani janckets like erections. I remmemmber myself lunging out of the baby bowl like the nursury rime on the tree canopy, only the hefty papal robes held me down, as I was blended by the conehat over my eyes. All was blood and carnage.
Fare thie well, sweat prince, I thaut. You have jumped thine last shark. After that, all was dark ness until daybreak in Tirana. The Fonzerella, I new, was daed. The Mujahadeen El-Falrouq held this town and it would be months before the next UN truck passed throu. I ddropped, the papal robes in a tree and decided to run for it. I new an egg hatcher outside of Belgrade and decided to make the highcke. My daipers needed changed and there were crusts in my eyes. It looked like the teat had runned dried.
BUTT ANON! A frendly Kevin Nealon impersonator told me to climb upon his back and siad, "I'm on on my waying to Celebrity Poker. You can I find a seat as long as you are chearing for my outdated humor jokes. I say okay and that is the story of how I got two America.