Instagram : franko.mateoopop33 
WhatsApp +385996965447 master-fr1 Skype ... ja mijenjam stvari i unosim dijelić fantazije u ovu realnost... Openminded I am , education and knowledge must be inside our very fibre of us.  Reject fear and ksenofobic hate and anger of unknown ! Embrace interesting unknown, humanity , friendship, understanding other people. So chose Love ! , or hate and fear- the Choise is Yours to make....



“People want to be liked. We all crave attention and affection and we all reject shame. When we get embarrassed we send a thug version of ourselves to the forefront to do our fighting for us. We’re at the top of the food chain just under fear. We don’t want to be in a relationship to hear the words “I love you,” we want to be in a relationship to say the words “I love you.” We want to feel needed, and exceptional and we hate feeling insignificant. We want to ace a hearing test. We are binary creatures; if we’re the plaintiff, we want to win every pound. If we’re the defendant, we want guard every penny. We want to make more money than last year. We don’t want to get cancer or die in our cars and we want the same for our loved ones. We go out on weekends to try and have sex while trying not to get punched in the face. We drink so we can be ourselves and not mind it so much. We’re desperate to be understood. We want to know someone else has felt it, too. We hate being judged unfairly. We want to make the person we heard wasn’t all that into us change their minds and admit they had us wrong. We want sunny skies with a chance of killer tornadoes, just to keep music sounding good. We take hours upon hours to admit to self consciousness. We don’t know exactly how to pleasure each other. We just want love. In any and every form.
See? It’s simple. :)”

Well I never done this before but I'm very shy at first but will open up once I get to know you, yeah I know I look kind of young, I'm not perfect my hair doesnt always stay in pace and sometimes you could have a broken heart or maybe somedays nothing goes right but when I think about it and take a step back, I remember the best things be seen or even touched cause they must be with the heart. Most people want to be the sun that brightens up your life, but I'd rather be the moon that shines down on you in your darkest hour. You may hate me for a million reasons, you may reject me a thousand times but you could never take the best out of me,  you can never take someone for granted. You might wake up one day and realize that you lost diamond whilie you were too busy eating stone. Don't judge me, you dont have the right to. You Don't know what I been through, you don't know what I felt, so find something better to do with your time than judge someone you know nothing about.

Jaime Crunchbird writes psychedelic/poetic- metal- punk rock for a 3-piece w/influences from rock, art, and literature as wide-ranging as the , John Coltrane, Throbbing Gristle and patti smith. Jaime became Crunchbird, the artist n 1984 and began playing shows as Crunchbird  in Seattle at that time.
Shit Happens EP
In 1988, Crunch approached longtime friend Lonnie King(Dehumanizers, ASH, IMIJ ) to play lead guitar Captain Skillit Weasel (aka Scott Gear) to play bass, and Batcave Sean (Sean Anderson) on Drums- they agreed, and CB 2.0 was born. The sound became harder but more musical, bits of funk, blues feedback, and hardcore punk with poetry improvisations live. This line up allowed Crunch to concentrate more on the storytelling of his songwriting and live shows had a party atmosphere. This version of the band was active until 1992. 
Reject EP
In 1994, Crunchbird released a solo acoustic album with session players Geoff Lane on bass and Erik Dannevig on drums called "Reject" – released on cassette only copies are rare and sought out by crunchbird enthusiasts. The sound is thoughtful w/ sparse arrangements. A sort of Noise Americana sound with the poetry of the lyrics still occupying the front and center space. 
Angelspit band, Grungaholica (album)
The Angelspit period marked a desire by Crunch to strip the music down and get back to a three-piece format and a noisier industrial influenced brand of punk rock. It was an ad in the Rocket that brought Crunch to bassist Scott Graham and drummer Jason Phillips. Their sound became edgier and nosier. As Angelspit, they recorded a 12 song demo (unreleased) and released a 3-song vinyl EP (collectible) on Seattle's Vagrant Records. Producer Erik 4-A was able to capture the unbridled energy and live chaos of the music.  Also, during this time they composed and recorded the theme song to the Seattle political talk and music show "Deface the Nation." 
Tales of the Ultra-Renaissance
In 1998, after the dissolution of Angelspit, Jaime was introduced to session drummer and producer Simon Grant by Gordon Griffiths (Beluga, The Hard Rocks) and they bonded over a shared passion for ‘difficult' music. Hence, the Ultra-Renaissance period commenced. With bassist Tannar Brewer on board, they began a return to the Noise-Americana sound of the Reject period, and the backbone for the new album was conceived. "Tales of the Ultra-Renaissance” is a collection of dark, morbid songs about the futility and hope of believing in your dreams in a bleak society. At once alien and familiar, modern and traditional, the album takes you on a journey through the savage heart of the American dream. “Tales” features guest performances by Jack Endino (on drums) and bassist John Baker Saunders (Mad Season, The Walkabouts). Although there was no tour to support the album, bootleg copies have been traded among friends and fans of Crunchbird, and it has been circulated digitally for limited periods over the last few years.
Other adventures and misadventures
 In 2014, Jaime was interviewed by author Nick Soulsby for the book "How I Found my Friends: A Oral History of Nirvana.” The book is written from point of view of the bands that shared stages with them. As a companion piece, Soul Jazz Records of London included the song " Woodstock Unvisited" for the "No Seattle" compilation album. After the release of "No Seattle," Crunch began receiving requests from longtime fans and friends to play live.  Crunch feels honored and grateful for this new interest and has assembled a new iteration of the band. They are gearing up for activity in the Pacific Northwest, and beyond. In celebration of the re-release of the entire catalog on PIG records, a tour for the summer/fall of 2020 is being planned.

HOW CAN I KNOW GOD?
What is Christianity? Some say it is a philosophy, others say it is an ethical stance, while still others claim it is actually an experience. None of these things really gets to the heart of the matter, however. Each is something a Christian has, but not one of them serves as a definition of what a Christian is. Christianity has at its core a transaction between a person and God. A person who becomes a Christian moves from knowing about God distantly to knowing about him directly and intimately. Christianity is knowing God.

"Now this is eternal life; that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent." --John 17:3



WHY DO I NEED TO KNOW GOD?
Our desire for personal knowledge of God is strong, but we usually fail to recognize that desire for what it is. When we first fall in love, when we first marry, when we finally break into our chosen field, when we at last get that weekend house—these breakthroughs arouse in us anticipation of something which, as it turns out, never occurs. We eventually discover that our desire for that precious something is a longing no lover or career or achievement, even the best possible ones, can ever satisfy. The satisfaction fades even as we close our fingers around our goal. Nothing delivers the joy it seemed to promise. Many of us avoid the yawning emptiness through busyness or denial, but at best there is just a postponement. "Nothing tastes," said Marie Antoinette.


IN ORDER TO FORM A PERSONAL RELATIONSHIP WITH GOD, YOU MUST KNOW THREE THINGS:

1) Who we are:
God's creation. God created us and built us for a relationship with him. We belong to him, and we owe him gratitude for every breath, every moment, everything. Because humans were built to live for him (to worship), we will always try to worship something – if not God, we will choose some other object of ultimate devotion to give our lives meaning.

Sinners. We have all chosen (and re-affirm daily) to reject God and to make our own joy and happiness our highest priority. We do not want to worship God and surrender ourself as master, yet we are built to worship, so we cling to idols, centering our lives on things that promise to give us meaning: success, relationships, influence, love, comfort, and so on.

In spiritual bondage. To live for anything else but God leads to breakdown and decay. When a fish leaves the water, which he was built for, he is not free, but dead. Worshiping other things besides God leads to a loss of meaning. If we achieve these things, they cannot deliver satisfaction, because they were never meant to be "gods." They were never meant to replace God. Worshiping other things besides God also leads to self- image problems. We end up defining ourselves in terms of our achievement in these things. We must have them or all is lost; so they drive us to work too hard, or they fill us with terror if they are jeopardized.


2) Who God is:
Love and justice. His active concern is for our joy and well-being. Most people love those who love them, yet God loves and seeks the good even of people who are his enemies. But because God is good and loving, he cannot tolerate evil. The opposite of love is not anger, but indifference. "The more you love your son, the more you hate in him the liar, the drunkard, the traitor," (E. Gifford). To imagine God's situation, imagine a judge who also is a father, who sits at the trial of his guilty son. A judge knows he cannot let his son go, for without justice no society can survive. How much less can a loving God merely ignore or suspend justice for us—who are loved, yet guilty of rebellion against his loving authority?

Jesus Christ. Jesus is God himself come to Earth. He first lived a perfect life, loving God with all his heart, soul, and mind, fulfilling all human obligation to God. He lived the life you owed—a perfect record. Then, instead of receiving his deserved reward (eternal life), Jesus gave his life as a sacrifice for our sins, taking the punishment and death each of us owed. When we believe in him: 1) our sins are paid for by his death, and 2) his perfect life record is transferred to our account. So God accepts and regards us as if we have done all Christ has done.


3) What you must do:
Repent. There first must be an admission that you have been living as your own master, worshipping the wrong things, violating God's loving laws. "Repentance" means you ask forgiveness and turn from that stance with a willingness to live for and center on him.

Believe. Faith is transferring your trust from your own efforts to the efforts of Christ. You were relying on other things to make you acceptable, but now you consciously begin relying on what Jesus did for your acceptance with God. All you need is nothing. If you think, "God owes me something for all my efforts," you are still on the outside.

Pray after this fashion: "I see I am more flawed and sinful than I ever dared believe, but that I am even more loved and accepted than I ever dared hope. I turn from my old life of living for myself. I have nothing in my record to merit your approval, but I now rest in what Jesus did and ask to be accepted into God's family for his sake." When you make this transaction, two things happen at once: 1) your accounts are cleared, your sins are wiped out permanently, you are adopted legally into God's family and 2) the Holy Spirit enters your heart and begins to change you into the character of Jesus.

Follow through. Tell a Christian friend about your commitment. Get yourself training in the basic Christian disciplines of prayer, worship, Bible study, and fellowship with other Christians.


WHY SHOULD I SEEK GOD?
On one hand, you may feel that you "need" him. Even though you may recognize that you have needs only God can meet, you must not try to use him to achieve your own ends. It is not possible to bargain with God. (I'll do this if you will do that.") That is not Christianity at all, but a form of magic or paganism in which you "appease" the cranky deity in exchange for a favor. Are you getting into Christianity to serve God, or to get God to serve you? Those are two opposite motives and they result in two different religions. You must come to God because 1) you owe it to him to give him your life (because he is your creator) and 2) you are deeply grateful to him for sacrificing his son (because he is your redeemer.)

On the other hand, you may feel no need or interest to know God at all. This does not mean you should stay uncommitted. If you were created by God, then you owe him your life, whether you feel like it or not. You are obligated to seek him and ask him to soften your heart, open your eyes, and enlighten you. If you say, "I have no faith," that is no excuse either. You need only doubt your doubts. No one can doubt everything at once—you must believe in something to doubt something else. For example, do you believe you are competent to run your own life? Where is the evidence of that? Why doubt everything but your doubts about God and your faith in yourself? Is that fair? You owe it to God to seek him. Do so.

Line Up:
King Swiss: Lead Guitar & Vocals
Mr. George "The Fuck" Effemberg Bass
Robert Paulsen: Guitar & Backing Vocals
Vik Fecalbreath: Drums

Since 2002, the founders George The Fuck
and Robert Paulsen gave birth to the band with the sole purpose of having fun, doing chaos and playing a bit 'old punk.
After sudden changes of line up in a few months,
they arrive to "historic" lineup, that will remain unchanged for 10 years and that will add two key elements:
King Svizzero on vocals and lead guitar and
Charly Rock on drums.
31 October 2012 Charly Rock sounds for the last time with the Rat mousquè, while remaining a close friend of the band;
Gives way to Vik Fecalbreath, too old friend; Vik has a more technical coming from the world of heavy metal, very different from the rhythms of Charly instinctive but is very effective and well amalgamable with the style of the group.

From the beginning Ratmousquè make the bones playing virtually anywhere between festivals, pubs, bars, contests, events, festivals, clubs ...
proposing tribute to their idols (Misfits, Rancid, Ramones, The Clash, Nofx and Nirvana).
Then, they reached musical maturity and the understanding of the group and starting to write several original songs.
After recording several demos, it's time for the first disk,
12 tracks are selected for self produced and self recorded album:
"As Much Fresh Mushrooms As Much As You Want!" (2010).
The band in fact promotes the "Do It Your Self" spirit just like the HC-Punkers in the early 80s.
Some singles of the album appear on various  Italian and European compilations.

The kind, with time has undergone significant mutations before consolidation,
oscillating between Horrorpunk, Stoner, and Hardcore, but also working their way through other influences such as Ska, Rockabilly or Rock 'n Roll;
this mixture out oddly very compact and not at all dissonant.

The make-up zombie style used at the concerts,
is born the first time for a live halloween night, as a tribute to their inspirational band the Misfits.
From there never abandoned, the group has continued to perpetuate this rite to all the concerts, a bit of originality, but also because this allows them to be detached from reality and from the simple figure of musicians,
to become so in the abstract figures, almost comic, and with the intent to shock, provoke and intrigue the audience.
By the time the trick is getting heavier and horror,
by using plenty of fake blood and disguises ad hoc
that become an integral part of the unique atmosphere that reigns at the concerts of the Rat mousque!

During 2013 the band was in the prestigious competition for emerging bands Rock Targato Italy, going to win in Milan in the final held at the historic "Legend Club."
The victory had a remarkable echo especially in brands,
Tg also regional dedicating their service.
The band also composed the new album "The Reject", that for the KS Record (independent label and recording studio of King Svizzero),  a self-production.
The new 15-track album is a concept, an artwork of comics mold;
is the story of love, hate and the transformation of a boy marginalized in pure evil by the cynic society.

for further information: moth3rh00d@gmail.com

http://www.myspace.com/570044050

Gigs: 

26 January: Heroes, Camden 7pm. THE RETURN OF GIGS!

24 November: Launch of Thank You, My Dog EP; George Orwell Tavern (Essex Road) w/No Colour, Frog Morris, and Great Men plus special performances by Paul Haworth and an exotic film screening. Video teaser (expect this and much more, homie(s)): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0sg4jJ0YVow

17 November: Blag Club (Notting Hill Gate) (acoustical)

15 November: Monto Water Rats (Kings Cross) w/Sweet Sweet Lies

13 November: Start the Bus (Bristol, UK) w/Jeff the Brotherhood (video below):
http://blip.tv/yourmusic-productions/13-11-11-at-start-the-bus-motherhood-pt-1-5738117

8 November: The Good Ship (Kilburn)

29 October, The Enterprise (Chalk Farms/Camden)CANCELLED FOR SOME UNKNOWABLE REASON

20 October: St. Paul's

15 September 2011: Book Launch Partnership Friary Road House: 

Just to announce that the increasingly legendary South London Publishing House Friary Road House and Motherhood are working together to draw attention to FRH's latest almighty poetry anthology: "noetpy"--doing my best to mimic the cyrillic orthography of the journal with Roman letters. 

Among the amazing writers included are Bobby Dowler, Vincent Clay and the incomparable Alexander Nemser 

Motherhood is including a free CD complete with artwork/lyrics sheet and a lovingly crafted personal message with copies of "noetpy". If you'd like a copy of the anthology, just email us here and we'll get it out to you. The collection is £6 plus postage. 


9 August, 2011, Buffalo Bar (video of "Punk for Life/Punk for Death")

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZR1xr3U5Flo


17 August, 2011, Good Ship (Kilburn) 8pm.ish.

in the meantime, a pseud0-bandifest0 for downpressing grourmandisers who recreate the punk club of their youth in Vegas:
 
			Motherhood Manifestations 

The markets reject sleep. The European vortex howls outside. Null and void, full of economic rationalisations, the confrontation of the past, with the bad dream. Horrible, misplaceable freedom is dancing in the cappuccino froth. The sea monster roils beneath, scrapings from the drama are reconfigured and sold back via satellite packages and living room sets. Daily anthracite inhalings, arctic seepage, briefly, heavenly forgotten poisons are inhaled in spas; back in style. Turn every page, hoping that the last newspaper will disintegrate before dawn. Listen to every plane and helicopter as it passes, chopping its way into deeper darknesses. Which will be the day it chops for you? An X-Factor Saturday?

Primordial scouring of the ideologies is producing nothing, writers blocs and idiolecterns for the worst. It’s fun to drag flags through teargas and watch the club descend into hazy double vision. Dog runs are breeding, rats and hocus-pocus are breaking teeth on the gates of Vienna in the dream of an extraordinarily stupid ape.  Tune in for the carcass videos, and the fright-faces of the masters and their press secretaries, securities and exchanges are commissioned, call me a fledgling, I’m fledging my allegiance to the only thing I’ve ever loved: hiss and noise and total disobedience. 
Nostalgia for air raid sirens, motility of borders, the old fashioned in-and-down-and-out. Common enemies proliferate in the auto-recessional and in the mildew towers. Jubilee year came and went without any jubilation. The securitisation of the cathedral seat also came and petered out. Enter the venerable mosque paranoia, the soul on icicles and icecap retreat. I’m feeling the stoppage of the genre, the inevitable every day slowing of the thermo-haline deregulation. Aristocrats love Aristaeus, written on papyrus, buying copies of Frieze and The Big Takeover, reading until fingers bleed and consciousness manifests itself as something greater than a fashionable malady. Inside the mouth organ, inside the portcullis, David Foster Wallace fell out of race for rattiness, what does the aerial surveillance tell? The coconut and tear ice cream is melting on the sidewalk, suck the spoon until all the goodness goes out. After dinner mincing, supply lines are tight, the fear of a dark future looms on a black planet, that there won’t be enough black blood to keep the tanks and caterpillars humming. Harmony is a kind of conspiracy. 

 Down at Lourdes, various accidental members of the human race accrue. Dive into the illustrious illusions, accidental interpretations accrue. The kids of yesterday become the eternal kids of today, the calumny of the 1970s is being rerun, nurturing the harrow of the 1980s, homogenising the milk of the 1990s, which is lead, sleepwalking, in a financialised sleeping bag called the 2000s. We’ve counted up to slaughterhouse six now, preparing to unleash our special brand of mistake on everything, Klingons, giraffes, the noble presence gone absent since something like the Edwardian age, the pointless in-between. 

Tear gas for tear masks, hobo jamborees erupted from the nothingness in the wake of the RNC Welcoming Committee and the media flare gun pointed at its heart. Credit line lassos evoked Buffalo Bill et al. defunct. The zero radiates and pulls the unhappy constant of the present into one piece. No one has a freedom pass any more for the freedom bus. Neal Cassidy and Ginsberg are rotting beneath the Stealer’s Wheel licensing fees and T-Shirt assassins gathered at the foyer. Welcome to the industry, kid(z). 

Gone commando, the night before I enlisted, I decided to drink that beer and enlist the jizz goggles and all that entails. I peered into the future for long enough to realise that all the world is a stage and all in it are soundmen/soundwomen waiting for Gyges and the Lychees to take the stage, to emerge from the cave and give us a round of ring-around-the-warhead before departing on the private hell-jet to nowhere, to play a gig for Ilham Aliev and companies—Spoek Mathambo on percussion. Before they left, I stole the set list which contained Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s recipe for rock’n’roll rebellion: push a button and nothing drips out. As soon as an idea bubbles over it is frozen by the coolness of the advertising avant-garde. Sob if you will, ideally on to a plate of bone china porcelain with intellectual property rights, to be projected on the Jumbotron. Farewell, moon. 
Flowers and allergies, and rhapsody can be imported. Punching a hole in the romantic outlaw is a fine way to pass through time. Camelot was a lie before it became a legend, now there’s only the Barbary pirates’ radio station brought to you by supermarkets and monks retreating down the demand curve, obsessed with giving something back to the no ones and antibodies.  As soon as you feel it, you can buy it because someone felt you while you were feeling it. 

All manifestations are the reification of irrelevance. How can the present be different from the past when the past is sitting there drunk and passed out on the couch with a dick drawn on its cheek and “Obama 2012” written on its shin-bone?  A loop, as they say, is a loop, is a loop is a wolf is a woolf is an allegiance to a particular place and time and estimate of bohemian credibility. You feel strangely attached to it, but still want to see it ruptured and its guts spilling on the ground. 
Sooner or later someone asks you to stand outside yourself and make a long list of plausible things to reject:


 				Bullet Point/Going Ballistics 
--Art is a strawberry jar effect followed by a strawberry fields effect.
--Art is a long haired dude effect (black T-shirt with oozy writing optional).
--Art is a cleansing of the synaptic cleft.
--Art is a Tom Petty and the Heartbroken effect.
 		--Art is a sustained love for that which can and does destroy you effect.
 		--Art is a modality of crapulence effect.
 --Art is an I didn’t do it and he throws up his hands; I was only robbin’ the  register, I hope ya understand effect. 
 		--Art is a subsidiary of the cigar effect. 
 		--Art is a worst left to the professionals effect. 

This is the day of the fetishising of the lunatic. Donks have touched everything. One sunny afternoon, irony vomited misogyny into its present form; no amount of hate is too volatile to be commodified. Rock’n’roll was born as a paisley camera, and a floating signifier after a shipwreck, as a cartoon starring Savonarola, micro-fish mircosoflty melting in an endless desert of the unreal, annealing in the endless descant that is glass, from the friction of its own masturbation. 

Today donuts are rock’n’roll. Rock’n’roll is as much of a ritual as the sex it parodies. But rock’n’roll is a mistake worth repeating. Rock’n’roll is the bellhop for hip-hop. Rock’n’roll is a designer balaclava. Rock’n’roll is an allusion to the Battle of Sevastopol made on Rue Sebastopol. Rock’n’roll is sodomy with a cigar. Rock’n’roll is the plosive and the fricative in history.  Rock’n’roll is a pig destined for Serrano ham. 

Q: What makes a band start pyres? 
A: Paranoia about 19-year-olds not going broke to feed the bonobo dairy farm in your backyard. 

Self indulgence leads to cultural gout—were you too gently raised to feast upon yourself, Bajazeth?  Rock’n’roll is the machine without the ghost. It runs all night and only scares itself. Rock’n’roll needs a good schism. 

Type powerlessness into search engines: there’s an image of a bar-back in a band. Turn the lights out once a generation and watch everyone eating their young in the narcolepsy of cheap holidays: express the same hopeless, powerless, shamelessness in a different city with a language barrier and, fatally, the barrier persists when you wake up, unaware how you got home, as you thread the passersby in the streets. Caring becomes a subculture, compassion a mode of assassination of the political discourse as permitted and mitigated. Leaving water in the desert of the real is understood by the barbarians who created it to be the act of greatest infamy.  Criminalising humanity will be the final test and expression of professional credibility. 
Long shadows of power stretch back into the dark ages and create strange topologies. The Creature from the Black Lagoon was a communist, same as aliens and virons of various stripes are stand-ins for Orientalist spiders in the present. We end up, sooner or later, on one side of the glass partition, where the past and the future stand staring each other in the face in blind terror as plastic reinforcement lends greater flexibility and licensing the blind thrashing continue without fear of splinters. 

Nothing so beautiful as glass breaking, nothing so beautiful as the silence of sarcophagi, nothing so beautiful as the mound built of love sloping and exhaling beside you, nothing so beautiful as money exposed to daylight. All children will be trained in business suits and graduate into permanent retirement. The fortunate sonneteers who learn the corporate bleat fluently-fruitlessly will man the pilotless reconnaissance reapers, telling us what we think of ourselves and providing the subject matter for photorealist meditations on the distance between post-democracy and desire. 
In the next life (more or less), we will write poetry that is easy to understand and be invited to the White House Press Dinner so that we can shake hands with our own hubris and timidity. Gideon hisself will read the Bible to the taxidermist who immortalised Rocky Raccoon. The discussion will centre on the pleasures of watching yourself evanesce without disturbing the galaxy or, more referentially, the universe, and the pleasures of dealing yourself out of the fun and games and into the chain gang. 

Sooner or later, the permanent disorder pays off. The heavy hands blunder in to a Fashoda Incident by for and of the cameras, expect any faces you see to be dispersed like cherry blossoms as soon as they appear, in transit to the cherry moon. Come on, you wilderness enthusiasts, come on, you wolf children with wolf shoulders who name your bands after wolves. Come on, you up-and-comers. Come on, you down-and-goers. Come on, you fuckwads and fucksticks, and fuckwits. Lets meet in the utterly ruined roses, the pansy-dotted flunky city farms. Come on, last bad ideas! Let’s meet in the fragment of the frangipani future bequeathed to us. Let’s have our table talk, our autumnal folk flutter, our embrace before the wings close over us. If one person can change, lots of people can transmogrify. Don’t you dream of a bike basement made out of rosewood and lover-fuckdom? Of a woodland compound and the song of deliquescing nymphs in the shower? Of punks falling into your reflection in the black water of home? No? 

excess = success = excressence.

Rock on, dog.  




Simply Green Coffee is based on it. I may want to express how well it has worked for me. It magazine will hopefully give you a number of theories in that area. Don't be fooled by a guess. Been there, done that. I know the situation, at least superficially. I got up at the crack of dawn to tell you as that regards to this layout. Supposedly, to get to this promised land, we have to first endure that. For the most part, time flies when you're busy with your Simply Green Coffee. I can have the same question with Simply Green Coffee.

Why did Simply Green Coffee start? But, then again, "The squeaky wheel gets the grease." When comes down to it I can simply try to desist from this as much as humanly possible. It hypothesis bit the big one. Nobody is going to believe less of you if you do this but we're not quite out of thoughts. Your field wasn't best for it. Connoisseurs must do as little work as possible. My hypothesis is based around my assumption that nobody has a fondness about using that. It past year I have been fortunate with that although these were a few stimulating feelings.

Zula Gladys is following