Thursday, January 05, 2006

was drink of crackleware

The title of this post is the subject of a piece of spam i received today, a gem that included the following text at its end - after a push for a specific stock.
good many hours here. I never thought, when I used to read books, grisly hand to his chin betrayed some trepidation or surprise. Private Parliament in Buckingham Street, after I came home from the about my poor mothers second husband, and that murdering woman of comrades, and his brown face brightened with a smile, I felt that I have deserved this, said Emily, but its dreadful. Dear, dear What. Did you ever see a crocodile overcome? inquired my aunt. Emilys dread of death - which, added to what Mr. Omer had told me, reference to our scrambling household arrangements; but I had got own home, in that second marriage; and never do both me and her the that I did not forget how interested he had always been in her, and youll bear in mind about the money, as theers at all times some
That was its own, standalone paragraph. Drink it in...

No comments:

Post a Comment