Auntie Maureen said how me and Mattie would have liked him but Uncle Eric said, Oh ye would not, he was just a crabbit old b****r.
Floods in northern India, mostly in the small state of Uttarakhand, have wrought disaster on an enormous scale.[…]Rock-filled torrents smashed vehicles and homes, burying victims under rubble and sludge.
Red o'er the forest glows the setting sun, / The line of yellow light dies fast away / That crown'd the eastern copse, and chill and dun / Falls on the moor the brief November day.
Wait. I can touch your boobs, stick my wiener in your bun, but I can't kiss you?
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