haunted_comedy

A soldier without a script becomes the seedy sort quick. Birdsongs of complaint are all you hear in the morning. Missing the sea of speakers of languages not meant for me; then there was less confusion. Today I dedicate my lines to the eyes of a ghost, who is still a better audience than most. These days, my jurors are not making clearer the halls of mirrors. Cauterized in dead sugar of old characters;; the mosquito with the burrito-sized libido hissing jizz and having the gall to be shocked that his sperm became the wails inside the walls of such flimsy hollywood synagogue stalls