Withers you French worm, I’m staying at the slate in Phucket, roops isn’t taking to me, the swimming pools are too warm and I battled 12 hours in economy to get here. I think this is the end for me, goodbye old friend.
I’m dusting off the Harley withers, whistable bound, I know you shouldn’t really eat oysters if there is a ‘R’ in the month but wtf, I hope one kills me.