<p>love internal combustion</p>
<p>after eating all those prunes</p>
<p>And then everything but engines</p>
<p>blew up and</p>
<p>all the mustard leaked, pity.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, across the Valley of</p>
<p>barfing turtles, squintted</p>
<p>the lovely (albeit nearsighted) Sorceress</p>
<p>--> RULE CHANGE AT #513: This is a 5-word game now.</p>
<p>who was not married to</p>
<p>-- > oh, didn't see that post. </p>
<p>her wife... unless you count</p>
<p>that night in Vegas when</p>
<p>she ran into gill grissom</p>
<p>, gazed upon the mustardly explosion</p>
<p>of poorly written Genetics papers,</p>
<p>and exclaimed "Confounded internal combustion...</p>
<p>during her semi-anual AA fundraiser</p>
<p>, which instantaneously internally combusted itself,</p>
<p>Fatally wounding both parking meters</p>
<p>with flying mustard and prunes</p>
<p>...luckily the monkey's were sleeping</p>