His hobo lit her Lucky Strike in vain. "Dreams don't cite," she strategised between puffs. "Lords and cannibals, revellers ... they're her 'fan base' ... I see you've started working me over with a toffee hammer. Though you asked for it straight."
"Lullaby, lullaby baby,
little candy joy,
queen of the queers art thou born to be,
in despite of boys."
"Sure resolve my core to an orrery of revolving flaws, like that's mature."
PROTECTING WESTMINSTER AND THE WIDER WORLD - WE'D ALL BE BETTER OFF IF SHE WAS IN CHARGE A few days ago a person who was very angry at the state of the world, and who had determined to do something v...
15 hours ago