So, our imperor (hu? you aks. No, not hu, just the jernail) went to this toga party:
The wimmen went aj a witch (rejist the temptation for the b, repakt the authirtaaa!). So there he ij getting in the door.
Put the beebles in the kountry back home doej not like it one pit:
that wimmen's with the bierced noje is esbecially bissed. Further less, they haj started all this noije about a 'roje' revolushun, no less! They give fillowers to our prave soldiers. See eggjamble:
who didn't know what to do with them. Natually, they will shorten the stalk and hold in behind their ear. Old hapits.
Here shown the korrect tekniche for shortening stalk. A good stalker will hold the same fillower for weeks pehind the same year. Put really theje wimmens are only bretending with theje fillowers, the real pizness habbens away from the cameraj, eggs:
I kan't see no policewimmens there, kan you? Even dancerj are sharpening their movej
just look at the hand jestures. So sharb, So sharb.
And unrelated, our old chambion pulpuddin haj got new combetition:
Rekords are not all they are made up to. Whatever will they think obh next. Oh, my had hurts.
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