Twenty, <***@fucking.serious.org.gov>, the infested, whoreson tart, and
worker responsible for being pressed between hot metal plates under
Post by Twenty Post by Peter Foldes
Unfortunately you are a Canadian who like your munged email ady says
"does not" but you do not smell your own. Unfortunately it does very
much all the way here
Self serving crap snipped
Actually its name is Andy Dixon and it lives in Malvern,(How's Sally
Andy? The scans look OK, pity about the rest of the crap photography)
It will of course deny it, but you can't change facts.
Here's the start point for anyone bored shitless with the tosser,
just put "gazwad" with or without quotes into google and follow the
number one answer.
NB You must be really bored to do this.
BWAHAHAHAHAHA you deranged twat, you'll refuse to post anything to back up
your claims, of course.
For my own part, I have never had a thought which I could not set down
in words with even more distinctness than that with which I conceived
it. There is, however, a class of fancies of exquisite delicacy which
are not thoughts, and to which as yet I have found it absolutely
impossible to adapt to language. These fancies arise in the soul, alas
how rarely. Only at epochs of most intense tranquillity, when the
bodily and mental health are in perfection. And at those weird points
of time, where the confines of the waking world blend with the world of
dreams. And so I captured this fancy, where all that we see, or seem,
is but a dream within a dream.