Tom tumbled bumblingly through the bull's tumultuous tum -- bulging bulbously I'll bet it be'd, branded "Big Bob's Bad Bulls" positively -- proceeding, Tom pulverized the pulsing pouch-pumps and played prettily in the dank dung which dangled delightfuly til daybreak, which it turns out, stank. Yanked awake by the bake of the sky's yellow cake, Tom turned tornadoous, whirling swirly down the side of the city, squashing silly sight-seers sideways til the bamboozled boobs fed their ooze to the buzzards bewilderingly.

This is a found things blog. I made damn near none of this.

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