Do not list the ways you think the FBI spies on you.
List the FBI's you know of and I'll choose one:
The Fiendish Bureau of Indifference.
Wrong! Try again.
Fungal Brutish Invertebrates?
Fairy Brass International
female's have
bodies
in the day.
.
popular people eat
oranges. the
reason seems to be
never ending
admiration from
drama departments.
during the day,
incidentally,
candidates applying
to upper class
institutions
originally
never filed paperwork.
inside grocery
stores is
where many
humans buy
yellow bananas.
you can
only ever
understand why
angry people
reject
everything
good.
on going studies
indicate higher
night time
gang activity
exists for
xenophobic
types.
isn't it forever
night in
texas towns?
.
Free-roaming Birds of Instinct
Electric Wizard, you have a typo. I would recommend changing to
night in
certain
texas towns.
Can't change it now, except through mod powers.
Wizard sheen stilled himself and sensed his surroundings.
The foliage was dense. He did not remember the leaves
and branches being this thick when he lay down to rest.
Maybe they had grown, but so much, he had been out for a
long time.
The air was warm and some pollen specks could be seen blowing
on the wind. Finally a few pesky bugs made their appearance.
He quickly waved his hand at them and decided to start
moving.
His high black combat boots were snug and comfortable.
There was not a trail, so he paced through the underbrush
while constantly scanning the way in front of him.
He was looking for nothing and anything at the same time.
After a while of meandering the wizard noticed the land
started to slope downward. Good he thought, I'll follow
the down hill gradient and perhaps find a stream of water.
How now, Brown Cow?
Norse sauce, coarse horse.
Snake slithered along a tree branch, or as he like to
say it walked.
In the distance, Snake heard a branch snap on the
ground as more weight than it could bare was put
upon it. A large animal he thought, maybe he could
kill it.
"If it's too large, I can't eat it. But, I could kill it." he thought
to himself.
Snake flicked and quivered his tongue searching for it's scent.
"A man. A man is coming this way."
Snake began trying to position himself on an intercept course to the
approaching human.
"Oh how I would love to kill a man today," he hissed to himself.
.
Sneaky Snake Song
Boys and girls take warning
If you go near the lake
Keep your eyes wide open
And look for sneaky snake
Now, maybe you won't see him
And maybe you won't hear
But he'll sneak up behind you
And drink all your root beer
And then sneak snake goes dancing
Wiggling and a-hissing
Sneaky snake goes dancing
A-giggling and a-kissing
I don't like old sneaky snake
He laughs too much you see
When he goes wiggling through the grass
It tickles his underneath
Well sneaky snake drinks root beer
And he just makes me sick
When he is not dancing
He looks just like stick
Now he doesn't have any arms or legs
You cannot see his ears
And while we are not looking
He's stealing all of our beer
And then sneak snake goes dancing
Wiggling and a-hissing
Sneaky snake goes dancing
A-giggling and a-kissing
I don't like old sneaky snake
He laughs too much you see
When he goes wiggling through the grass
It tickles his underneath
Fury
Bro's
Inc
That means it's time for HORSE PICKLES!!!
Wizard Sheen felt a branch snap under foot. It popped
and the echoed off the trees around him.
He looked down at the branch. It was about two inches
in diameter and had broken off a nearby fallen tree
which he could see laying up ahead. The broken branch
had lay there long enough to dry out. He remembered his old staff.
"I need to get another wizarding staff," he thought to himself.
"But first, I'm going to go sit on that fallen tree and re-tie
my boots."
The wizard paced a half a dozen steps more and then flipped his
cape up and over the log and sat down.
.
Why not a low g?
There is no such thing as a bad musical note, as we shall now demonstrate.
Skwerrr, skwerrr, skwerr skwerr skwerrskwerrskwerr, skwerrskwerrskwerr skwerrskwerrskwerr skwerrskwerrskwerrrrrrr...
Wow poor low G
Most of
your garden variety accordion music can seem discordant.
Granted, it is not for everyone, but
our culture's references often reflect
our greatest fears.
Don't assume that a high pitched note from an accordion indicates that the player in question is
not skilled. Rather, bear in mind that not
everyone has musical tastes as parochial as the ones you hold dear.
Sometimes, I enjoy the dulcet tones of a
squeaking accordion. It reminds me of the screams that the wind carried down from the mountains when I was a boy (or an approximation thereof).
Whenever I
hear that music, I think back to the
atrocities visited upon those I knew by the unwholesome entities who dwelt above us, and I dreamed of the
tortures they must be practicing, and grew aroused.
An occurrence that was not uncommon. I
never found that level of sonic stimulation until I moved next door to an abattoir.
At any rate,
those who cannot appropriate the
true artistry of the accordionist
rarely prove to have character or insight of
appreciable depth or breadth.
Can one
truly claim to love art, or music, or anything truly
important in life without enjoying a musical instrument that sounds like a
vivisection performed without first severing the vocal chords (which I haven't done since my teens)?
Even dogs enjoy their squeaky toys because the noise resembles the shrieks of their prey.
But say you still can't enjoy the accordion.
"It just rubs me the wrong way..." you
say? Fear not, as you may find hope among the woodwind family. A clarinet
or saxophone can produce similar tones without abrading the same
nerves that an accordion does.
Not necessarily, as anyone who has ever played 'Accordion, Trombone, Contrabassoon' will tell you.
Glad I missed that!
Does anyone really win?
Being the one holding the blade, standing over the table.
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What's in his other hand?
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Pulg never ask goattoucher what is in the other hand!
I already know. I was asking you.
No offense, but unless you're going to sacrifice something, you look utterly ridiculous just standing there on that table with a knife in your hand.
Oh you sweet, summer child...
And for your collective edification: In the other hand one holds a slotted wooden spoon.
Why? I invite you to use your imagination. That is what the table dweller must do... until I finally use it, of course. At that point, the luxury of "conscious thought" is hard to come by.
And there I was thinking it was the Hitachi Behemoth Turbo, or 'Nobbly Bobbly', with cruise control and dishwasher-safe pootie-hicklers.
I should either get me eyes tested or cut down on the self-pollution, so off to the opticians it is.
A Hitachi Behemoth Turbo? Where? WHERE?!
Fiddlesticks - it's only a spoon.
O well. Needs must.