Shoot an arrow through a crowd of window shoppers and vagrants at earphone level,
and each pierced brain transmits a casualty through a conduit of uses.
Is the Sututkin-Spielvogel clan mangling violins
to cause my confidante to casually toss my correspondence overboard?
Only those who watch, or hear about from their coworkers,
tonight's episode of Bliepo Der Scheissnase Wunderhund will ever know!
God bless America, our sow-eating soul!
     — "She has not unshapely lumps of buns."
          — Proof that I know the character of the vulgar American Æneid.
Start, now that I forgot what I was going to say.
I hope you're reading with both farsightedness and nearsightedness. —
I didn't hear the music of the spheres. I heard the music of the flies.
Crap like this cabbidge comes rolling out like bile. Bile accents.
A paunchy Tudor prince, wearing a tirolerhut, purple, with nooses,
is talking to Dame Alice Wundersniffer. The beard is to hide the chin, which can swear itself in. Oh oh oh, elephants' hazards in the syllabus are revised each time. I can still see that Tudor prince. Now there's a Bishop looming over him: perhaps he will be wedded to Dame Alice. And there's a portrait of Frosty by a delirious wallpainter, with a robotic tin-can cat set in his hairdo.
I think He hit his Head. Jeez, a Hay to get Your Keister on The Floor.
Well He wasn't supposed to Jump off, but Rather to Jlimb Down.
There's clearly an error in the original text. Oh my though!
There might've been two copies, one of which still exists, because it originally must've said "Hump off" and "Climb Down" and they must've gotten two J's cut out of whole cloth and, having begun to paste them in censorship, realized that any seasoned crumb-picker would recognize "Climb Down" as well, so covered it up too in the one copy, but the other copy they took off with, themselves, when they fled before the Protestant forces only days later! And I guaran-frickin-tee it that there's an uncensored copy of Holy Frijoles, It's Atman in the Vatican, somewhere!
Who does this run-of-the-mountains censoring jokester think he is?
Who is this pancontinental sensory jokester?
Could we get some primeval and ethereal light down here?