Postman was moaning under his balaclava at another load of juices coming in I had to sign for, and I asked him how he'd feel living in a 'Dennis the Menace' sleeping bag, and having to do a sack race to the door every time he was out there whining?
Clutching my Lava Tube reminded me also of my trips, and fingers completely gawn, in the past of the 80 or so miles on my BSA lightening I used to have to do, to where my daft mother decided to live in Gorseinon, with the Welsh loonies down there.
Pity this juice isn't flammable, I could use it to help my lover Ray Mears trying to strike the fire in the middle of the room, I've made, out of my mother's mangle rollers, and rocking chair I chopped up!
Edited by Boadacia, 04 February 2012 - 12:24 PM.

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