In Ten Words...
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About MeI will write one soon, when I have the time.
This seems to be a *thing*, so:
My theme music: ∞ YouTube ∞
(More to be added later.)
In the meantime, a list of guesses as to the meaning of my name:
Icicles traditionally grow from tapered roofs when a night chills winter over.
I totally go for the right words and never choose wrong ones.
I treated Grandma for the raw wounds and neck cramps we observed.
Interesting that grape farms that require water are newly created wildly often.
Ideal trains go faster than running water and never collide with others.
I teach girls for that real women always need cranial work-outs.
Irresponsibly, the guardians for the royal walls allowed nefarious convicts without orders.
I think Gnome fearlessly tries raucous, weird acronyms, not considering women's opinions.
If the greedy fat tyrants realized war's actually necessary, cowards would obey.
It's tastefully good, fleeing the ranks wearing absolutely no clothes whatsoever online.
Investigating the grand foyer, the royal wardens actually noticed clearly-wrong observations.
In turbulent Georgia, frequent trembles recede, warnings about new crises would obfuscate.
In two gates, free Terran rage wins and no clear withdrawal outcomes.
Irritatingly, the governor fought the right wars and no clear winner overall.
I'm that guy from the right wing alliance, no cooking weed obviously.
I took grits from random walrus alcoves never considering withered odor.
Innocent toddlers gambol fitfully toward rolling wet animals needlessly cavorting without orthogonality.
Is this getting frustrating to read? Witty acronyms need cranial work outs.
It's the giant flamboyant T-Rex Wrangling Articulate Neo-Cubist Wearing Overalls!
I think Gnome feels that, really, we all need clean wet oysters.
I teach Grammar Five to reasonably wild atheists, not caring who observes.
I Think Google Fought the Totalitarian Rationale War Against Nubile Wanton Oranges.
It takes gelatinous fruit to rescue wannabe astronauts narrowly coping with obesity.
Insane thinkers grope fuzzy towels rigidly wistfully around new cats wanking openly!
Insensibly torturing gamers, frisky trolls riot wantonly and never cease wailing obnoxiously.
Ignore The Game, for thy rationality waneth as nonexistent challenges waste opinions.
In the great French trenches, rhubarb was a new cancer with oafs.
"A β Pseudolonewolf is "Prayer solves every universal dilemma, often leaving other nonreligious everymen wondering over life's flaws.""
Irregular transformations go for tenfold revenue when a new cancer winner operates.
Incredibly touching gits fire the rounds when a new captain walks over.
Inside The Great Flying Train Rang Winnetou And Nom'd Cereal Winners' Opuntias.
Icy treats go for tandem rides when a new cow walks off.
Intricate Treasure Grove, Finds That Really Want A New Corporate Worker Orchestra.
Ingest the grapefruit; feel the raspberries; whiff a nectarine...consume with opulence?
Insatiable trencoated geese feeling that red waiscoats ain't nothin' comapred with ostriches.
In tonnes of glitter, frolicking toadstools revel with anxious nords calling with oatmeal.
And of course, the legendary Gnome:
Irritatingly, the guessing for the right wanking acronym nigh continues with ostentation.
I thought girls forget the rancid wafting ass... NEVER consider washing ostriches.
Incorrectly, those guys fxed their ruddy wieners and now can't wank off.
I think girls fighting through rough waters always needlessly create world order.
Instantaneously, the giant fell; then raunchy Westerners ate nostril custard with odor.
It's this girl's foreign temperament, really, walking a neo-Cold War octopus.
I'm The Guy From That Roof Which A Narcotic Cow Walked On!