Dawn bREaks on Frexit

[PieOats]

Lord Commander Borris Johnson, Master of the Freeport of Antonica smiled up at the rising sun. She winked - and flashedeth unto him her hot toddies. The Lord Commander drank of them (both) and was thoroughly boozed. He strolled by the water closet vanity and paid it no heed as it hurled his *GREAT RADIANCE* back upon his comely shoulders. He was a dashing fellow. The mirror knew this as well as he, himself (exercised appropriately for emphasis).

An MP RUSHED FORWARD and turned *off* the capslock as he stooped low before the High Lord, "Whattofor hath thou donned upon thine crown, noblest withertoof, milord?"
"Grau, grau, finneth pon dine venesow!" He snorted with a haughty smile.
"Huehuehuehue," retorted the little man from a hole in is shoe.
Dawn growled. Dawn laborer and at last the morning sun drop from her glowing anus.
The Lord Commander flushed.

[Chortles Snort|eS]

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[Mblake81]

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[KansasComrade]

What is this, FYAD?

[PieOats]

Rank wang floated dubiously in the air. The chief fomentor of lust rubbish was pleased. It was dark and pale and rancid. He wore torn breeches of bad amalgamations and wrought dark lagoons of the luxurious forays he was wont to conclude. Deep spates of dark divinities drowned his deep thoughts on dark thots and third words of red sandals. We'd love to not, but for they that had this madness. Yellowed tribes in disheveled robes bound with glee from hilltop to tree. There needn't be any reason free. We'd then see what to be. Flee or bend the knee. I crout in silence my hands to my face, the sound I trace withered in dark lace. What for we know of this benknownst, but not when or how or of the most. Let be this tree of some or three and the vine comes to shine may we be fine. Brine and dine and do not whine when we're fine, we'll be in line. Let all be held and then forgot, old things quelled and some things not. This is it, but for now, hags a great day up until now and then some more.

Thank you,

[Mblake81]

NEGGED

[PieOats]

ACKnowledged. Honestly it felt too coherent for SoC, but it's what came out as I warmed up. It also displays interesting parallels to the tale of the late JEFREY EPSTEIN.

[Canelek]

Approved. Ship it!

[PieOats]

The Lord Commander's lory screeched to a halt. He dismounted, ripped the pewter commode from her boot and strode around the front. "There's a good hen!" He said with a loving pat on the bonnet. He then skipped skipped gaily into No. 9. where he spent the rest of the day loying about.

High Lord Provocateur Jacob Reese-Mogg had just returned from Hogwarts and was out for a bit of Wensleydale and pussy. His tiny moogle wings ferried him down Downing Street with wondrous rapidity. He snickered haughtily and mumbled a collection unintelligible English word things.

A dark shape emerged far down the street beyond many toy-sized domestic transport vessels. The eyes of High Lord Provocateur blinked behind a set of neat Chopard frames. Melisandre, the Red Witch of Dravania came in view just ahead. Reese-Mogg blushed and fluttered to a *FULL STOP-* as Melisandre regained her composure. She smoothed her pretty dress and adjusted her old, but still perky breasts before greeting High Lord Mogg. Mogg fluttered gracelessly as he inclined his moggbody in something of a bow, softly thwacking the Lady with his yellow Moggball.

"Lord Mogg, is been donkey years!" cooed Melissandre.
"Too good, my dear," he returned cheerfully, but with GREAT AUTHORITY.

Melissandre leaned forward spilling a good portion of milf bosom from her silky raiment. "It is not safe here, my Lord," she whispered. Her breath smelled of yeasty fruit and ethanol. MoggMogg recoiled, ALCOHOL! He glanced about. Remainers leered from the shadows at Mogg's fine eyewear and Melissandre s milkshake.

"Too right, Madame," returned Mogg "we must needs be away."

Melissandre's faced scrunched and the recycled paper straw collapsed. Melissandre frowned at the milkshake. And with that, they made for the refuge of HELM's DEEP.

[Chortles Snort|eS]

Nice post I didn’t reaD U wholE grAin WhoRe