Once up on a huge, big señorita, Oliver shucked his dirty, filthy bandana. He stank. He was fat skank. Cargo pants slipped off his rocker. His jumbo winders flapped in the mighty, forceful gust. He smacked his logo. Emily Thomas flopped. Oliver can’t flop. Hair under the thy-bolts is hairy. Big balls got big scro…eek…eek. Oliver shaped his ears into dodecahedrons. They stupefied his parents. He scratched and “OOT”ed. “OOT”s were popular in jihads and other stuff. Beavers build dams. Damn! I urgently crossed streets. Streets suck! Sidewalks suck! Curbs aren’t bad. Same for stoplights. Cars spin on flapping winders. Belts keep your cargo onboard. Oliver decided he should become a very powerful, inane tick. Ticks are raved little beasts. Son, daughter, madre, y hijo; have a wart. Holes in cheeks are causes of loss of food. Oliver baked papas. Chile is my favorito schubb. Schubb is a small, gigantic tick. Fingers of joy and toes of sorrow. Leaves, soybeans, and dry ice burn. Poisonous pokeberries herky-jerky, lerky-querky split. Oliver is a careless, pompous, dusty fag. He sucks. Damn. He pooped again. Dust bunnies hop schubbily. The bunnies are dusty. Bumpy bumps bump bumpily. Trees have several leaves that fall in fall with twigs and branches, which contain smelly birds. Oliver likes frisky señoritas. He is bi. He is not very straight or gay.
Once, when, then, now, how, cheeks, and flippers. That’s the way seals swim. I love steak. Seal chops in custard. Biscuit drizzles melted in BBQ chicken. That stupid chicken finger. It stuck its feelers up Jimmy B’s cargo shorts. Jimmy B sucks. Chicken is good. Bug Beatles whack bug ants off. The ants can’t feel the Beatles gnawing on their feelers. Groin muffins aren’t tasty. Grass is cow chow. Finnish tots are Finnish. And they’re huge!!! I suck Finnish tots often. Sometimes I pail buckets. Other times I frolic in meadows with many trees. Trees sometimes fall up. Other snakes jump high and twist. Other times they shed. Other others often eat cow and pie with blackberry seeds. They eat salty casinos. Gambling for cheese nickels is not legal. Dang! That is a promise. So, shame on my tooth mop. Swinging sweepers are swinging. Sliding along, I slipped and smacked my fat ass! What can you say? Shut up! Then open your mouth. So I can hear stoners. Happy holidays and Thanksgiving pizzas. Pizzaz, soup, and sour thimbles fly sap layers. Condensation, masturbation, blades, and lances don’t mix. So shoot bison.
Señoritas, señoritas, come in and comer. Shikees and pandas comer hijos y bamboo. Ingiens run with squeaky bulls. Landon is kinda overweight and fat. He likes pubic lice. Groin! Goblins! Please lick shrubs. Shrubs blow trees. What the sock? Shoes can run spring water through spikets. Wheaty, sweety, tweety and thongs. Hegbert stinks like flowers. He is beautiful. Oatmeal with cookies is drowning. Landon dines with wide, narrow pails. Hegbert is Subtle Pierre. He is a dusty superhero. Buns and clouds are dusty too. Ditches, bitches, and hoes. They are full of shit. ADVERTURE! Lesbians are across the aisle. Isles of danger! Hegbert and Landon are necessary. They are bald on the balls. They’re really dangerous ticks. “Dr. Skank, Subtle Pierre has a boner!” Butt hair is gross. Pedro is Landon. He isn’t Hegbert. Dr. Skank is Pedro. The 7-up guy talks to Dr. Skank 
in his trailer. “Was that the holy scrotum?” Holy mother! (of pearl) Nick’s foot itches. “Scratch the backpack, holy scrotum.” Dr. Query, ask my question to the maroon monkey. Dr. Skank is escaping. Subtle Pierre isn’t here. Dr. Skank isn’t escaping. Get out. Escape! Run your ass screws. Run into shrubs. Blow the good and tasty trees. Bark Pluto! Stiff cock. That’s Hegbert’s game. What and Adventure!
One fish. Two fish. Red fish. Blue bitch. That’s life. * Pweet * STINKY! Magnum P.U. is one bad, small, mother flipper. He sucks. Not! He’s kooth! While he swings, he goes back and back around. That’s when the sirens wail. Pens and pins and buttons get high when the sirens stop. Listen! Subtly listening, Magnum puffs on his stogy. He isn’t kidding. Lines make more trouble than segments of bubbly things. That’s one thing that everyone should know. Some things can’t do. They can’t do. They just can’t. Do. Later. Dew®. The Dew. Dude. Damn. That’s frickin’ cracy. My stogy went out. Crank it up, Mr. Garth. Lookin’ like a mug shot. Fattys, pattys, and pumpkin stripes. Look aboot. Canadian biscuits and crap.
Tight shirts, tight shorts, no bra, and a thong. That’s Malerie, Mistress Malerie. Cameltoes! Midriff! Cleavage! That’s what Daddy likes. Jack MeHoff is my daughter’s relative. Software, Hardware, that’s the shit. Shit on a biscuit. Drizzle on the legs. Legs are nice. Demader my ballsies. I can see! So look around. See food! See biscuits. See crap. See my floppers! And my dong. They like my riled up and my riled down. Carpet munchers. Malerie likes to chow carpet. Jack me up. Fuckers! Do chop, DooWang, do straws, and do other wangs. That isn’t how little things react to limestone. They shit. That’s not how to react. Freaky, Squeeky, un-suckered, and llama. They all have two syllables. Get out! When I wigadoo, I take it around. There’s that and this and that. That’s amore. * Pweet *! What!?! Sorry…Anywho… Brewed fresh everyday. That’s starting a bonfire. Malerie is an oral cavity. Odd but tasty. That is the kick in Paris. Yes or No? Pweeters pweet. Eww. Malerie is pweeting. STINKY! Yet TASTY! That’s Malerie and skanks. Jack is dumping on her face. He asks, “Do jump?” She stinks, “Yes!” Or are baboons really poisonous?
