That’s how you get to the dead world in bettleguise
The details of my life are quite inconsequential… very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.
That’s how you get to the dead world in bettleguise
I feel represented.
Is this like new poor? But new old?
CPEUI-20102: It’s working but still clean up to do.
I’ll never get time to do that “clean up”
Well, there are two schools of thought. Smell vs Sound.
I imagine the conversation to start this company went something like this…
He looks like he lives in a coo coo clock.
This hits hard. :(
Now this I can dig into.
There's always money in the lemonade stand. Wink wink.
Need more information. I’m ready for a new genre of music to jam to.
I need the beans. When I found out about the beans here I found out I wasn’t alone. But there is room for Beef Stroganoff.
Like what if I was caught in an elevator with Mr Bean and the Devil. And he was going to kill us if one of us didn’t tork his meat? I’d say “Mr Bean, Stroke’em’off.”
I’ll see my way out.
It’s currently doing some Flight of The Navigator stuff with some kid in Noth Carolina.
I think they will know because of the echo in my bathroom.
Eleven through nineteen do not follow the same naming convention that the twentys, thirtys, forties and so on do. For example, fifty one, fifty two… Instead of eleven it should be tenty one. The pattern should match.
I can hear the theme song