Its allure is rancid, a sour blood of anathema.
Here is the antidote: false premises to consolidate the passing away of the uncouth phantom of this soap opera carcass; all fleshly evidence.
Competition is love. Gossip is music. News is money. Analysis is comedy. It's apartheid in Paradise!
Better practice the theory-divide!
Floating vixen in a magic show overturning the restaurant into the swimming pool, cult gang occupation of the flying heart, the glistening shoes — the guns — oh the guns! — on patrol with the krull knife, waiting for the right time and place . . .
On Thanksgiving, we went out for dinner.