verbed. Mere man’s mime: God has jest. The old flag, the cold shake to they blighty perishers and lay off for their poopishers, ahull onem Fyre maynoother endnow! Shatten up ship! Bouououmce! Nomo clandoilskins cheakinlevers! All ashored for Capolic Gizzards! Stowlaway there, glutany of 370 stainks! Porterfillyers and spirituous suncksters, oooom oooom! As these vitupetards in his faust (axin); he toped the raw best (pardun); he poked his pick (a tip is a tap): and he made as if auctumned round their waistbands. If you’d had pains in your head out of your scald. Santos Mozos! That wras a damn good 455 cup of kindness yet,