To tell the truth, I'd scare me too.
Who would be a poor man, a beggar man, a thief, if he held a rich man in his hand?
The excrement bubbles, the century slime decays, and the brainwashing government lackeys would have us say it's under control.
Hold your head up to the gun of a million cathode ray tubes aired at your tiny skull.
God of ages, Lord of Time, mine is the right to be wrong.
She's a warm fart at Christmas.