i demand some loratadine
mr mugabe, you are despicable and disgusting.
where did that new hat on your wife's head come from?
what sense is there in making sense?
therefore, let us not make sense ever again. or at least keep it within a tolerable minimum.
i'll make my sense out of paper and glue. when i feel like it.
may i add
i need to get out of here. i swear. so close. please, i tell myself, don't go mad don't okay it's too late for that but at least keep it hushhush or at least stop chasing jehova's witnesses down the road with a string of garlic and a wooden cross just because they're friendly people who like to visit once a week.
and this hot chocolate is evil because it just burnt my pecho derecho.