Original Palindromes Newest

Won’t I bedevil for a jar of live debit now?

Won’t I beg Dee: “Finks’ sarcasm lifting is a sign it films a crass knife-edge bit now?”

Won’t I belt tile notes if I set one little bit now?

“Won’t I burn acid?” I call, “It’s still acid… I can rub it now.”

Won’t I bury a seller of sex-affiliated detail if faxes for Elle say “Rub it now”?

Won’t I decide medic edit now?

Won’t I deem telepaths are not a name no one man at one rash tape let me edit now?

Won’t I deliver epee deliveries or prose I revile: deeper evil edit now?

Won’t I hit now?

Won’t I pit now?

Won’t I sit now?

Won’t I, for patents I list, net a profit now?

Won’t I get a late git now?

Won’t I have Eva hit now?

Won’t I help massive Levis’ sample hit now?

Won’t I hew some memos we hit now?

Won’t I, merely tsar of red Rumania, grab roses or bargain a murder for a style remit now?

Won’t I move disaster frets aside, vomit now?

Won’t I pop it now?!

Won’t I pull a bat up, if I put a ball up it, now?

Won’t I repaper, repaper it now?

“Won’t I taste genocide, master?” frets a medic, “one gets at it now.”

Won’t I use jam if I’m a Jesuit now?

Won’t I Xerox a fax or exit now?

Won’t Ida, eh, head it now?

Won’t last sighs also slash gist salt now?

Won’t local apparel like kilts—oh, ghostlike killer!—appal a colt now?

Won’t Lucy ads’ mood assess a doomsday cult now?

Won’t Nat sideline, senile, distant now?

Won’t Neil assert nectar at a rat centre’s salient now?