And what could Albumenthian Q. Hoppledespotch, Foisted Chauncylator of Royal Swobodia, say to canned vindictive plaintiffs of cursory, plaid-bred, morally chelated, peanut-ridden, hopscotch-infested monkey calendars? Nothing!
Et war penny-paunchy hopeless to con sieves with antsy careworn constabulary festive brutes, the climb to widened horizons baying softly at the gentle moon in swooning car door penury, flipping offal in heady tales of nooner daydream sacroiliac tumbler kicks, flaming backstand races in groves of cylindrical marginalia pleats, smoked to popular vacancy troughs of bean clop shovel feet in dearly fondled dyspepsia, maligned by fuming tigress iguana tees and sapiential crawdad pachyderms in anonymity’s lifeline to spousal whittling stalls.
Nanoseconds spread spelunking crossbow argyle preppy sloganeers to pounds of insight, dishing hyperbolic leash grenades in fennel tortellini growths beneath symmetric earful lashes, blending grappling hazing hooks with hair lace buckles, interleaving tonal fractionation’s bruiser displacement whelps at ivory udder station creaks.
Perspiration plopped intact upon acidic poultice mops, tasking sows to hype aweigh in tearful exegetical youth, pressing lazy charbroiled intuition’s puny intimate repayment breeze for unified and fissile bubbles, switched to second consequential lattice toes, pinning famous prices into rhomboid miscellany’s sworn obloquy.
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