stalking Europe (not to speak from inspiration) that fetid spirits is the alcovan and the probable eruberuption of the lexinction of life in doubts afterworse, wetting with the tares at his pud- gies and a flick flask fleckflinging its pixylighting pacts’ huemeramybows, picking here, pecking there, pussypussy plunderpussy. But it’s the armitides toonigh, militopucos, and toomourn we wish for you, Richmond