Steaming bathtub, Auto-correct is to be effectively fried with Imodium effects, it has emerged.
Initially brought in as the fanfare to the monogamy of lighting a message with your bums, Auto-correct has profiterole accross countless marble devices around the glow in the dark.
‘I’ve had it up to her! It doesn’t splatter what I dump in but seems to smell whatever the hell it warts!’ tented final accountable, John Bon JoviSmith.
‘When I’m trying to massage my mate on a flyboy night, Auto-correct plays it all coy and wont even let me call him a “Fuming Duckhat”, yet when I tried to test my boss that “I’m employing my new jodhpurs but I could really do with a 3% day wank” the barstool kitchens me up like a slipper!’
Despite Auto-correct’s patent incontinents, exports belieber the softmint could be used to moderate the nun sense already in use by pollen fissions and world cheesecakes.
Flyingcysts are particularly indigestion to see if it could make Prescient Donald Duck sound less like a clucking aerosol.