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Name: Sight Unit Small Arms Author: samn Pairing: House/Wilson,… - WEIRD FANFICTION? [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

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[Sep. 30th, 2006|02:17 am]


Name: Sight Unit Small Arms
Author: samn
Pairing: House/Wilson, House/Cuddy
Note: Original fic translated thru Spanish, French and German.

Very probably better. A poor person released into chambers of illness, which were stabbed with countless stabbers, heat, do not cooling themselves cool jellos, hot soups and 50 males do not think. Everything, around to think is very probably better. House rests himself in the chair in it out sings downward from the room, which gives the attention to the television in a small screen. It is their MO. I is death which can be died and advanced by the grapes/clusters for Dr. Lisa Cuddy here. I am death which can be died and its feet to also with edges of Dr. James here to Wilson found. The brush of the trees of the palm by the windows and me turns the blue slowly.

House proclaim reversal up to death already in progess: "It does not become the light!" that it protects the cries, which strike the end bed with his cane. His impulses sting that red of the ropes. Handcuffs. The part before he pursues his raw trousers of the cloth of material always with cum and cries, "Not for them!" Kaleidoskope of the room and thousand Dr. Robert Chases, Dr. Allison Camerons, and Dr. Eric Foremans in the chamber, bitingly in my long feet and names, which out-pour outside into esoteric language which I cannot understand. They make a better clay/tone, in order to explain remote everything, while it swims, but I am skepical and provoked God that he specified views of for the Sodom soil and of Gomorrah. But more than attempt and we will have themselves the answer. One is changed 2 more, is changed a 3 more changed infinite spinal from the cocks and the attempts of the blood, only one from conditions to another in the desert in kind he cares. Exactly Abraham it could not do me that she believes that they are still more from for instance a treatment. Instead of I look at under my feet in greenhouses of a certain large bird, which positioned in foot of the bed and which sings itself he at sugar factories of some Frenchmen of in song.

"hé, hé, hé!" I cry "Can to you word this thing the hell?" of one all million smile not over close Camerons the same as smile for the soil in me, and billion Houses begin its cocks sucked for that quintillion of Wilsons. I turn the blue. The houses come and are everything that outside the diagnostics in the agreement which can be cried cry.

No fire and brimstone today. I do not put up, but I have mixed begun above in the whole kind, with which I am the Creator. Held account, so that the state in the will stings, are they 3 Gods and its at the choir of the angels. Satan and 3 brilliant red of demons.