Cold seats, when applied to heart-warming scenarios of contemporary disfigurement on music theory, work as a generally fine replacement when trees suffocate undesirably as a result of conflagrations of conglomerate overload.
But, but, why? I haven't even begun to opine about the serious repercussions when elephantine proportions of equally skilled, yet destructible masses of whining ostriches transcend into belittling molecules that spontaneously fire while perfidious corporate executives start calculating the light photons descending into a wild mixture of really crazy chimney blocks.
Not to mention, while extra piles of sadistic blobfish are being exonerated at the precious, yet mystifying moment of stratifying silence, you, my friend, are simply materializing into microscopic particles of serene glossy embrace while I sit here and cry.
Occording to analysis, Sillies is suffering from Weirdthredhedache, so if we divide X by the Intercept Theorem times two, we get his body temperature times Pi! Aren't I a genius?
I'd like to make an inquiry into the time it will take for my wigs to be prepared. As you know I prefer the curly blue ones, and like barbecue on the extensions. Be sure to boil them in a pot, pour them in a bowl and allow me to slurp them with the liquid they were boiled in.
All I can say is that the irreversible probability on the concurrence based on the presence of cantaloupes tends to juxtapose directly over perilous lines of ambiguity, so in order to differentiate the finite differences between, say, formal propagation and controversial deformities, one must be able to promulgate frugal disparities while also balancing the very essence of cognitive dissonance.