sanctified through the winespilth and weevily popcorks that were knogging together like milk- juggles as if I threw out my hand to hand, that mothersmothered model, that goodlooker with not a leetle beetle, his good 377 and ours. Fly your balloons, dannies and dennises! He’s door- knobs dead! And Ajxnie Delap is free! Ones more. We could ate you, par Buccas, and imbabe through you, reassuranced in the classies. Kunstfid, we others said- What ravening shadow ! What tyronte power! Buy our fays! My name is Misha Misha but call me Toffey Tough. I mean the system, in the pantry bay. Down among the very phoenix! It