Have they find your friend?

Have they find your friend? He who went amiss three months agroin?

Back in time to those months four ago, when once shame covers your goad, feeling like a little toad, slime-filled ugly. But now, these memories might seemed proud, less ashame because now disappearman has create a new shame – “it’s a shame” now you said.

Do you remembrain? When your face sobbing, bloodied with payback by skinfilled shitter batter you for knowledge of your cockanal? Shivered in emotiquake through fear of future battery? But friend be cuddlekind as so many time previously back beforehand then, saying the words in soft Berliner, “stille, stille, mein liebling, mein liebling, stille” and stroking your spanked visage with large efficient German hand.

And times of nightclubbering, tranced to dancemusik and friend wants to stay for “einmal danceklaut”. You were had greatness, loving the buttockhold but still the always slideglance to autreface. Who sees? Did you just saw that? Don’t notice gay gilt over my gay guilt.

Have they find your friend? He who went amiss three months agroan?

Clearly they haddock, for his face is still newsgood, and even now, Maximirillius Snoad reads glum news of “izzy dead? Or izzunee?” to your face, which pondered now, “will they fined mein freund? He who went amiss three months agroat?”

Smileschön, little smile, then now you tittered “not unless they dig up my garden.”