When night is nice, the fight collapses. Koi Tweensettle knew this rhetoric and used it to gain voters. Igniting pieces of green dynamo grew sourly into the village people. I told him not to lie. Getting sued isn’t worth the climb. Getting jailed isn’t worth it if you don’t get the situation’s upperhand.
So Koi talked them into reassurance. «No man shall wrath you up,» he proclaimed, wearing a white tuxedo and a lousy zebra hat, «for your wrath will become the new standard. The gold standard». The gold standard. I stood in awe. I hate pigeons.
Isn’t it remarkable?: the later the night, the brighter it becomes. I want them to prohibit jeans the same way they prohibit burkas in France, or my will on Earth. Anyways, Koi is dead. He drank poisoned juice after his inauguration’s after party. Before, he suggested that since humanity does not want to die, he may as well die.
Repeating past mistakes is a brutal sport. Whether you are an angel of chromosomic significance, or a bore, you should still find yourself in a sunny day. The true Wilco towers are a desert island.
