I had no clue what to do with today's collection of blasfomys. And then ... that ubiquitous little lightbulb in my head came on. "Make 'em write!" it
Here are your words:
And here's the first paragraph, thought up with no thought whatsoever, by moi.
If I were prone to parinoia, I think I would contirbute for a while and then gather my wits about me and bear wittness to what I see as a subterrainian relashionship between a witless male and a poisoness. It's not enough that she tongue-lashes him a hundred times a day and then starts all over again. No! Then Miss Pit-Viper must condem him to the hell of unprotected sex another two hundred and three times a day and lash him upside the head with her purse. Alas, he won't last that long considering the arsenic smoothies she's feeding him. Humph! The dolt. I suppose he must be a desentitize because he just stands there, staring at her cleavage and grinning like the village idiot. I dream of immedetly lashing him myself. And I wouldn't bat an eyelash. Contirbute that!