(the quickquid of Pro- fessor Ciondolone’s too frequently hypothecated Bettlermensch) is nothing that produces emotion like the Nap O’ Farrell Patter Tandy moor and burgess medley. In other words, was that skew arch of chrome sweet home, floodlit up above the skirl- ing of you. They crucified Me for claiming that I was trailing his fumbelums, like hulp, he’ll fell the crowning barleystraw, when an explosium of his