Deer, Antony Blinken… the beauty of Raytheon is that miss-îles is [operating]on Hawaiian jet-lag

We’r on Deadline. And that’s a Phact, ma’am, so jump to los Frutos de mañana en Segovia because contrary, to what Paul McCartney might have improvised for “Tootsie” Hoffman, “The grand ol’Painter” was breaking doña María’s water in Málaga, and in Segovia it’s the Eve of San Frutos, people who know, know that before there was such a thing as a “Birdman” Keaton, and a Robert Redford horse-whispering ways, there existed in Spain, a guy named Frutos “el pa°jar°ero°³” his lineage went back all the way to Patricians in Rome, anyhow, one day, Frutos asked a Castillian cattleman a favor, Frutos required a yoke and pair of bueyes to transport THE STONES, back to his hermitage where he worshipped Saint- Solitude, anyway, the bitch-ass cattleman offered Frutos two 🐂 fierce lidia bulls 🐂, which my-man, Frutos, turned into docile Beasts of Burden. In•deed.

Vivaldi was a Frutsi™️ lover.


³~. Not to be confused with Frutsi “el pajero” because Frutsi is a Mexican icicle-pop, and PaJeRo is a Mitsubishi SUV.

And, Ceci Bartoli, what’cha talking about, “Work!”

And, Paul McCartney, don’t bogart that joint, pass the bottle to Pau de Gósol.

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