Slip Slap Slop Then

Ooh I fly. Wow. Am I a bird? Am I a plane? Training travellers tainted teams. Testicular travelling trademarks trampling. And a green arch in a wind. Do I have wings? No I do not. Do I have a silvery dress on? No I do not. I am mortal yet immortal. I leave the bed and flap off through many layers of air. Unwelcome is some information but I shall not dwell there. Instead I shall delete. And move on. For many many years. Over twenty. I have zoomed around the globe. I cannot begin to explain. There is insufficient word counts. 1 2 3 4. A four is a good score. But I average about eighteen. At least I could thread a spear in 300bc. Anon adjuticus. Oh yes. How rather interesting it is. But playing reed music is harmonic only to a passing heron. Good. Leaflets laughter leaving left. Great. Eradicated a year. Oh. But the fumbling's are never prevalent in a tin bath. Soaring then. In a round pink shape. With a snout. Oink. Good good good good and a little layer of persistent prawn muscle. Fantastic. No ha ha. Ni x. A big fat pin in a pint and a pineapple waves. Statuaries.