Fingers plicking an endless path across a sea of textual madness
Inability to do anything brings my heard to the face
How about a cup of apples to go with your grief madam?
Dead children only happen twice on Tuesdays when soup is served

In case of wombat, break Crocodile Hunters.
Pass the cheese sauce and hold the extra pickles.
My moped of justice will end your siege of cruel exploding sparrows.
I need a girlfriend desperately
Here how about some fresh baby in ginger sauce?