Penelope Cholmondely raised her azure eyes from the crabbed scenario. She meandered among the congeries of her memoirs. There was the Kinetic Algernon, a choleric artificer of icons and triptychs, who wanted to write a trilogy. For years she had stifled her risibilities with dour moods. His asthma caused him to sough like the zephyrs among the tamarack.
Monday, September 28, 2009
EAT LIGHTNING. SHIT THUNDER.
I mainly just like it at 1:07 with the yelling and the thoomp thooomp thoomp.
Edit: "You can make it as much a cat or a lion, vulture or eagle as you like. Whatever you think a griffin ought to look like! Many thanks" Yayyyyyyyyyyyyy oh god it's actually going to eat me this thing is a predator
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