My mom makes tea out of babies when the weatherman is not looking. She says that it is because she was raised in a one room school house somewhere off the coast of Disney Land. If I was her I would just sell umbrellas or something. What's the deal with babies now days anyway. Well, I guess it all boils down to spinach in the end. Any comments??? --Princess
i got lost when u said "my mom"..........
I have a sister who thinks the dog looks like Bob Saget's dishwashing liquid container. I told her it was a whole heap of who-har, then at yoga fell splat into a ginger knife blade summer.
The rubber duck, unfaithful to love. Eating my pudding while I am watching. The anger is growing. "Watch out for falling umbrellas", said the man, the man that was you. Dancing on dirty velvet couches, pink with fear... 2 Be Continued P.S. Kitten you are awesome! --Princess
you people are cool.
Blue man grube! Careb smedley 'twon curb house feet. Eyecandle care druge milipede.
twas brillig and the slithy toves/did gyre and gimble in the wabe/all mimsy were the borogoves/and mome raths outgrabe/beware the jabberwock my son/the jaws that bite the claws that catch/beware the jubjub bird and shun/the frumiuos bandersnatch/he took his vorpal sword in hand/long time the maxome foe he sought/and rested he by the tumtum tree/and stood awhile in thought/as if in uffish thought he stood/the jabberwock with eyes of flame/came whiffling through the tulgey wood/and burbled as it came/one. teo. one two, and through and through/the vorpal blade went snicker snack/he left it dead and with its head/he went galumping back/and hast thou slain the jabberwock/come to my arms my beamish boy/oh frabjous day calloh callay/he chortled in his joy/twas brillig and the slithy toves/did gyre and gimble in the wabe/all mimsy were the borogoves/and mome raths outgrabe
hopple bobble bebble nop so no top gunuy do sash a frash meno me
I revised my poem a bit. ------------------------------------=-------------------------------------
Aim to please. Eat the cheese.
)(&^$"^ %^&% 54 $$%^ 4$%^& 445^&&%£¬"^_)@? ';;p/ :{?>:P 5%^&^$$£$ :?{:PL::@^%$$ **&&^&& %%$ 6"£^&*(^ *&^%$ ^&&^&%^%£". Is it clear now?
By Anonymous on Monday, September 14, 1998 - 05:55 pm:
By Kitten on Thursday, September 17, 1998 - 01:28 am:
My boyfrined's best mate is interested in looking after the Lean Cuisine party distributor. What a floozy! Had the kid and told everyone it wasn't hers, but the bag lady form Galston Road!
Kisses to Watty...
By Princess on Thursday, September 17, 1998 - 12:22 pm:
By Anonymous on Friday, September 18, 1998 - 04:38 am:
Vijay
vkher@msms.doe.k12.ms.us
By Gilmoure on Friday, September 18, 1998 - 07:57 pm:
G
By Jabberwocky on Saturday, September 19, 1998 - 06:19 pm:
By Anonymous on Sunday, September 20, 1998 - 11:33 pm:
By Princess on Sunday, September 20, 1998 - 11:53 pm:
The rubber duck/ Unfaithful to love/ Eating my platter of applesauce/ While I am watching/ The anger is growing/ Watch out for falling umbrellas/ Said the man/ The man that was you/ Pink with fear/ Dancing on dirty velvet couches/ Looking for happiness/ In a dead end alley/ The dead end alley of life/ Where the fish are singing/ The song of sorrow/ The sorrow of popsicles/ In the hot December sun/ Of a year with no fruit/ And soups made of sheetcake/ Slowly boiling/ Denim rabbits are laughing/ With their poison rings of jello/ Sailing the seven seas/ On technicolor paper clips/ Wishing for a better way/ Dreaming of tomorrows past/ Of the lady in the white dress/ Whose grandparents were drowned in a well/ After spiders were in the washing machine/ Running about/ On bridges of rice/ Throwing choclate coins/ Into the darkness/ The darkness of the human soul
By FinGr PAINtrrrr on Monday, September 21, 1998 - 03:01 am:
Suck it hard. Lick the lard.
Full as a goose. Sex with a moose.
By Anonymous on Saturday, September 26, 1998 - 10:15 am: