HILARIOUS FATSO CLONED SOMEONE AND GOT CLONED IN RETURN.
BUT, I'D KNOW, ANYWAY.
By: Iris P. Concepcion

I was supposed to write a Hemingway-an ouvre kind of piece, sullen and punctured since I just exercised my mouth from a verbal match. Not my mood though.

Funny account then.

The deconstruction of a life said to be devoted to women in utmost fidelity got uproarious when all these protruded tummies paraded down the canal like Oliver's lost children (I presume he got married) and it snapped me out from my temporal sleepiness. That was terrible. Especially the cross-eyed son-of-a-bottle looking like a wallflower who kept on saying : "Mom, mom!"

Anyhow, it ain't my crowd but my crowd was there too, dethreading some lyrics. I liked the snooze mode I had felt. You know this fatso with the tacky silver bracelet had two girls, having a great time. I wish I could slap him on the back and say: "You freako!" Anyhoo, his pants was so tight you'd wonder if those legs can still move. It was like weighed down by two Neptunes in hardboil cement.

I could not wait to give a shout-out to that villain with the extending lips : I slept, and so did your Mom when you started singing. You poor boy! Awful voice. My baby's gonna spank you in that arena. Joke. What's with the beard? You look like a shaved monkey.

I was likewise given something to make me smell good and some Burtonish facials that's straight off from Beetleguese. It said : Dead Sea. I can only mutter : Voila.

The boyfriend well captured in my previous blog item won't like me deboning things for people he is not smoochie with so I simply stop now.

I do because he is loved I suppose, and you just follow THAT rule. He is a slob, I tell you. He does that when he is upset. I do not want him looking like a slob, get it?

I am sooooooooo corny. Burrrrrrrrr.