The Package. The Pandemonium. The Proud Pony Numero Two. The Paragon. The Paradox-o-logico Pissed Prospect. The Poker Prefaced Pinocchio Pair. The Paper-Pumpin' Philanthropy-Purgin' Psychic. The Pied Piping Pagan. The Blundering-Plundering Partly-Resented Resettlement. The Patriotic Perished Anti-Pacifist. The Persistent Pingu-Postin' Propaganda Seized Cureall.
The 'Past is the Past' Presenting Purple-Turnin' Possessed Pastor Priest. The Peanut Pastry Feast's Pirate President.
The Pathetic, wretched, principled page-portioned population-aimed partition. The powerful enough to probably level a whole prefecture prevailing phenomena.
Just one more prize-plucked public proximity probe mastered by me. A little elbow grease & pound for pound paradigm pushed all-the-boys-wanna-pounce pregnant princess.....reincarnated by me.
Studied...by me. Fused...by me.
The newest project, by me. Miracled, you could say, by me.
And you best hope.
Not picked by you.
radarr
The Dirty Thirties: Home to dust bowl farmers, reedy-voiced folk singers and rail-riding hobos. Life pretty much sucks unless you're lucky enough to be a rich socialite, in which case you can expect to be involved in a wacky screwball comedy
Humphrey Bogart
by brl131psu