Sparky Puma--clawed extension
I, me, shit, ya know by now--you pluralistic fruitcakes--don't say ya don't know the Sparky-doodle-coodle-fruitle-thingamajig-picklepussypiper, yet a chastity belt until love unlocks, and ex-hubby--yuck, armed with the noxious nasty, and I still miss THUNDERCATS, not the reboot, but kinda cat-like cool, the Lion with Emerald Eyes mind ya.
I don't like little kids, unless baptized by the last Hebrew Prophet, in some opinions, surviving on locusts and honey, though Solomon reminds not to gorge, unless feeding the bears. Cats got cooler claws--in my opinion; at the same time, who doesn't love a Mother Bear adoring her Cubs?
So, I was listening to Miyagi--not even cats like snakes, but don't mind them. You don't bother me; next, I (Sparky Puma) won't bother you; however, piss in my Chinese Soup, I go back to My Pride. And Florida. Where the hell are the Surf Punks? Too big for her top; next, the strings are gonna pop. Nasty dudes. My eyes are up here, not my nuclear buxomlishishness. But can you really blame delinquent dudes? All those little submarines regenerating daily. Once a month for us ladies, and yet Pumas pick a proud mate. The solitary mountain feline. Grizzly Adams--I reflect upon you sir. Shit, why can't I just be a park ranger?
My Westie White (Jubles), well--crazy nation. Yappy and scrappy. Who would've thought? A dog is protecting this non-commercialized meow-mix. Gotcha Jubles. And may Almighty God have me in the palm of His Hand. Trust nothing more than a Father, Son, Holy Ghost--the Author of Perpetual Life--dudes, Jesus already wrote the Book. Live it. Live/Eternal Action. God Bless. Sparky Puma out, maybe. Maybe not . . .
is protecting this pussalicious.
