Routine Feeds The Illusion Of

He Wanted Her To Experience All The Glorious Cheese Of Life.

She Pulled Down The Blanket And Aimed Baby Sophie's Bottom At Him Like She Might Unleash A Fusillade Of Weapons-grade Poopage Such As The Guileless Beta Male Had Never Seen.

Theophilus Crowe's Mobile Phone Played Eight Bars Of "tangled Up In Blue" In An Irritating Electronic Voice That Sounded Like A Choir Of Suffering Houseflies, Or Jiminy Cricket Huffing Helium, Or, Well, You Know, Bob Dylan.

Last Time I Really Got To Know Myself It Turned Out There Was A Whole Gang Of Bitches In There To Deal With. I Felt Like The Receptionist At A Rehab Center. They All Had Nice Tits Though, I Gotta Say.

Advice, Then, Young Yeoman: When Referring To The King's Middle Daughter, State That She Is Fair, Speculate That She Is Pious, But Unless You'd Like To Spend Your Watch Looking For The Box Where Your Head Is Kept, Resist The Urge To Wax Ignorant On Her Naughty Bits." -pocket I Don't Know What That Means, Sir." -yeoman Speak Not Of Regan's Shaggacity, Son" [...] -pocket