Whoso pulleth this word from this mouf will be the trueborn Queeb of Llywernog!
puttering about the mindscape, nahp. finding only old oily cloths and battered portmanteaus fillt with socks withal. and the thumpyer said that all the seas would crease their eyes and drink the firment up. do see the wip or thum that gord or blahs the nahtty.
golden daredevils plummet: defenestrated all. kiss their gold-heads and close their pore pore eyes. feel the grummy nuppit, when all the yold party-favors call to collect their wares. askulap the telefonical: feel its shugry grip round about yer nekk! oh, bleeve me! please.
jumpin on the ropes, i’m there. and not there. feel that crass crushing of harps. twang the heart right out of ya. i’m so so so-ing. feebleminded and crackpated, ulp, goes that big-throated murmur. fell eyelids crouching on the scarpment. weezel and dodoizer combined. almost, saullike needing some sweet melodiary to calm the seething furnace. and where are the words when you need them to ring forth with bright song?