| deskpro2k3 said: werds shod spel baced un hou it sound. |
You mean like this?
She Fawn Is Lie Want!
My nay she sure dorn way!
Woe dean?
By dar fair sane.
Loss me shown.
Host us far cared own.
Dish null an cairn ouse an.
Soda, yeats game us own.
For ma mid’n say say lift oven idea o’ten he gale.
It row minute! Gay hair do, ace is Nick star by.
Ace is o’bear so I sick.
Dive aie I knee! Gay hair dough!
E for four, do forced hint air mere know, o’bear sheer nay bow girl.
Word Hias! E hope an stearn grease an.
Gay halt in Dick near!
Fix Noah mole, days is was mid day own fan gare.
Nick’s we share O’Ryan.
Shy’s drag
“It appeared that there had even been demonstrations to thank Big Brother for raising the chocolate ration to twenty grams a week. And only yesterday, he reflected, it had been announced that the ration was to be reduced to twenty grams a week. Was it possible that they could swallow that, after only twenty-four hours? Yes, they swallowed it.”
- George Orwell, ‘1984’
