The World On Its Head by m.e.

Topsy turvy as the swirls cause eddies to storm the streets of Second City where the winds are strong and the crime rates rise like the moribund Phoenix laying dormant whilst the swells party hardy like 1999, but the purple prince is dead as the democrats whose hopes of change tickle the keyboards of those die-hards who still hope for the ashes of O’ Barry to rekindle what is obviously a dead duck whose soup finds no takers as its gaminess leaves much for desire.

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