I stomp on typewriters with rubber galoshes. See spot gape, meddling with his giant bone. The one he stole from a cactus when he was stilla wee pup. Not all who wander are lost. Some wander just scoping out a quiet and safe place to make love. Might as well have happened in the sun, behind a conical shaped haystack, safe and secluded. The jolly
(
Read more... )