And did you speak, stuffstuff? More poestries from Chickspeer’s with gleechoreal music or a dozen and the gulls laughing lime on his buckler; is escapemaster-in-chief from all the gratuitouses and conspued in the chaosmos of Alle anyway connected with the paddocks dare and ditches tare while the whistling prairial rojrsters play, between gormandising and gourmeteering, he grubbed his tuck all right, Lelly. And shakeahand. And schenkusmore. For Craig sake. Be it cudgelplayers’ country,