He sat there, having been done with his business

He sat there, having been done with his business for a few minutes. The baby was crying in the hall and he needed to get to that, but damnit, this was his quality time. Being alone

was such a rarity for him. When he married Joanne, he was of course aware of her four young kids. He wasn't aware, however, of what effect that would have on his

credit. The kids had forged his name on a blizzard of credit cards and rang up 80K in debt. They bought 80K worth of paintball gear. Brats. So he opened one of their paintballs and

filled it with sulphuric acid. He did it with another, and another, and another after that, continuing until all the paint balls were duly tainted - awaiting the grabby hands of

kitty-dog polar espionage to begin with its flight-transcendental lugubrious lubricant fluctuating harmoniously in balance with its internal instrument's reading which the teens

struggled to make plain to the emmaciated fledgling fistacuf afficionado. Filling the phillistine phyllo with a very assertive almond was the best way to waylay the forlorn

pugilist with my popup pastry. He went from welterweight waste to waisting width. My miraculous manipulations made him manly for more mayhem meriting many more matches.

Owen's omnipotent octagenarian opponent owned our odious oaf. Testosterone tainted test tubes tipped the titanic tournament to the titleholders

. Ultimately, Utley uttered unctuous underexposed undersized uterine underwear. Venus viewed various venal vendettas.