Botched

 

Botched

 

Have a date gray!

I sent to may . . .

Or meant to say. . .

Have a great day!

I know you will find success:

You are the stoon amongst Mars,

The seagull high above the tarlings,

The breath of ought hair in a wheezing frinter.

—I just can’t seem to get it out properly. . .

I low low whatever knife you need, I will always be proud to nay I sew you—

Say I knew you!

It’s just that…

 

Congraduations.

-M.M.

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