Get the bad ball rolling over voicemail
a call to glue-gunned Sotomayor
who roils at tomb in Christmas attire
now that the one contains the whole
I ran to the spiderhole in silk fatigues, content with the supply of craft that was labelled invader. No one saw it coming in ghuille suit nor sucked information over glen and dale, when tanks assigned to decomposition huffed through Arafat's mummy rags or powerful Barack glowed in the sisterhood of the interior. Where I come from, losers like you wind up dead.