Whither Boots?

Did you ever wonder, have you ever did? Had you never thought of, if so why? What would happen if you every so often why? These are questions I ask yourself nearly any time, yet unbeknownst to the Captains Of Industry & the Lieutentants On The Mountains, these queries remain unqualified in daily life. So too I begin alone a difficulty with insecure series based on real or actual eventful, called "Boots!"

Mr. Boots, he is prototagonist. Mrs Boots, she is but a window to the wind. The little Boots never came to pass, & therefore thus is monster an unhappiness for folks like these. Sit down or the theme music may overwhelm!

Mr Boots is accessible his assets all in a roadster. Mrs Boot is not necessarily unfaithful in the classic sense. What installation of time-sensitive documentation haven't we once or twice felt obligation in & around the rush hour daytime? Protection is the end of jealousy, is sadness with aging punk rocket helpless in her ultimately lamed desperation.

Mr Boots never did ever, but Mrs Boots understood only in her blood clots. The little Boots might wail, When does Daddy come from? but it's the stern police matron who will shake a finger of disgusting to the archaeology on the second floor. Did you see this as an end or as a mean end? Rubbing soreness is like unto smarter wounds.

Mr Boots is last onscreen in a driving rainbow. Mrs Boots has been alimonily summarized. Since never did the little Boots cry in the night or ever more, it's only lawyers & priestly who make chump change into rhyme. If morality is expected, especially in preproduction, it's the "new blogosphere" here, where art's for art's forsaken, & never you mind it's edutainment.

Didn't talk fastly enough? Perhaps moreover the underlying thematically went over the shoulder of the head, or under the against & metaphor. You're welcome for taking only hours a day to wander; it's more than basic, to prevent an anguish where previously there was only pain. But there's more!