What do you call a rapper who LOVES nature?
MC Green
I'd insult BlessedBrian, but it seems NATURE beat me to it
Frank Bulgin is freaky bold, A man with a spirit untamed, untold. With eyes that pierce through the darkest night, He walks a path that's far from light.
His steps are loud, his presence strong, A force of nature, where he belongs. Through the chaos, he finds his way, Leaving footprints that never fade.
A rebel soul, unafraid to speak, His words drip with passion, so unique. He dances with danger, embraces the unknown, Challenging limits, into the wild he's thrown.
No rules can bind him, no walls can contain, Frank Bulgin sets fire to the mundane. He paints the sky with vibrant hues, A kaleidoscope of dreams he pursues.
In his mind, a symphony of thoughts, An artist's palette, where inspiration is sought. He weaves words like a masterful bard, Creating tapestries that leave us marred.
With each verse, he unravels his soul, Unveiling the depths that make him whole. His poetry, a window to his essence, A glimpse into a world of fearless presence.
Frank Bulgin is freaky bold, A maverick, a legend yet to be told. His spirit roams, forever untamed, A beacon of courage, never to be tamed.
In Mia's world, where bottles and parrots meet, A whimsical symphony takes its seat. With feathers ablaze, the parrots take flight, Their vibrant hues painting the day with delight.
Mia, a dreamer with a heart full of glee, Embraces the beauty for all to see. Her bottles, like whispers of stories untold, Capture the magic that time cannot hold.
Each bottle, a vessel of dreams and desires, Unveiling the soul's deepest fires. They dance in the sunlight, sparkle and gleam, A kaleidoscope of colors in Mia's dream.
Parrots, enchanting with melodies rare, Sing ballads of love, floating through the air. Their voices, like echoes of nature's sweet call, Enchanting all hearts, big and small.
Mia, with reverence, sets the parrots free, To soar across oceans, to distant lands and seas. In their freedom, they find their truest grace, A testament to love's boundless space.
And as Mia's bottles journey afar, They carry her dreams, like a guiding star. Through mountains and valleys, they'll forever roam, In the hearts of dreamers, they'll always find home.
Jayden March, a name so bold, Never knew the joy of cookies untold. In a world of sugar and sweet delight, He stood apart, an unusual sight.
While others indulged in sugary bliss, Jayden abstained, dismissing the kiss Of chocolate chips and dough so divine, His willpower strong, his resolve intertwined.
No oatmeal raisin or double fudge, Could tempt his taste buds, not even a nudge. For Jayden March, a different path he took, In a world of cookies, he never partook.
His reasons unknown, a mystery untold, Perhaps he sought something purer than gold. Or maybe he craved a different kind of treat, One that couldn't be found in a cookie sheet.
But as the years passed by, curiosity grew, Whispers of wonder, questions anew. Why did Jayden March deny such delight? Was there a secret hidden in his resolute fight?
Some say he found solace in nature's embrace, In the rustle of leaves and the wind's gentle pace. Others believed his heart sought a different reward, In acts of kindness, love freely poured.
Jayden March, a man of mystery and grace, Marched to a beat only he could embrace. In a world of cookies, he found his own way, Leaving us wondering, pondering day by day.
For though he never tasted the sweetness of a treat, Jayden March's story remains incomplete. A reminder to us all, to explore and define, Our own desires, our own paths to find.
So let us celebrate Jayden's unique choice, And listen to the whisper of our own inner voice. For in a world of cookies, may we remember, That sometimes it's the journey, not the taste, we treasure.
Joshua White loves blue, A simple truth, tried and true. In his pocket, only six, Yet each penny a valued fix.
With eyes that seek the azure skies, He dreams of places that mesmerize. A palette of blues, a symphony of hues, Whispering secrets only he can choose.
His heart beats to the rhythm of the sea, Where waves crash, wild and free. In sandy shores, he finds solace rare, A momentary escape from life's daily wear.
In cerulean fields, flowers dance, Their vibrant petals, a timeless romance. He wanders through meadows, devoid of strife, Seeking solace in nature's vibrant life.
Joshua White, a soul of gentle grace, Embracing the world at his own pace. Though his pockets hold a mere six, His spirit soars, never to be fixed.
For in the depths of his azure dreams, The richness of life's tapestry gleams. And with every breath, he finds anew, That love is boundless, ever true.
In the realm of words, I shall embark, To craft a verse, both bold and stark, Thomas Bulgin, a name that ignites, A tale of length and moist delights.
Free from the chains of structured rhyme, I wander through this realm, sublime, Thomas Bulgin, a phrase so strange, Evoking thoughts that rearrange.
Long, it stretches, like a winding road, Leading us to depths, yet to be bestowed, In syllables, it dances and it plays, A journey we embark, in myriad ways.
Moist, a word that teems with life, A touch of nature, amidst the strife, It whispers of raindrops on tender leaves, Of dew-kissed petals and gentle heaves.
Thomas Bulgin, a phrase so surreal, Unleashing emotions, that time cannot seal, In this short verse, I strive to convey, A glimpse of what these words might say.
So let us ponder, the mystery untold, Of Thomas Bulgin, both long and bold, For in the realm of poetry's sweet embrace, Even the unusual finds its rightful place.
In the heart of a circular, creamy delight, there exists a void, a singular absence that adds to its charm. This hollow space, a perfect round, is a testament to the artistry of nature and man's culinary skills. The hole, a silent observer, bears witness to the transformation of the substance around it, from a liquid state to a firm, yet supple form. It's a silent testament to the passage of time, a symbol of patience and the magic of fermentation. The void, despite its emptiness, contributes to the overall aesthetic, making the slice a visual treat. It's a playful peek-a-boo with the world beyond, a window that adds mystery and intrigue. In the end, the hole is not just a void, but a character in the story of this culinary masterpiece, a silent protagonist that adds depth and character to the narrative. It's a testament to the beauty of imperfection, a celebration of the unique and the unconventional.
What's the natural cure to an old man's inability to forgive people?
Alzheimer's.
My science teacher was talking about natural selection. At one point she asked me to name the first person to theorize about it. I said, Eric Harris It was on his shirt.
If you don't get the joke look up Eric Harris natural selection.
Who is the definition of a natural born cocksucker A bisexuality male or a homosexual male or a bisexual female or a heterosexual female ? A physically disabled heterosexual male
Why did the Indian man refuse to use deodorant? Because he wanted to smell like his natural habitat, the shitter.
