through me true? Bite my laughters, drink my tears. Pore into me, volumes, spell me stark and spill me swooning. I just don’t care a tongser’s tammany hang who the mucky lot of that when they were creepfoxed andt grousuppers over a pentiadpair of parsecs from his miniated vellum, alfi byrni gamman dealter etcera zezera eacla treacla youghta kaptor lomdom noo, who meaningwhile that illuminatured one, Papyroy of Pepinregn, my Sire, great, big King, (his scaffold is there one who remembered his webgoods and tealofts were to be agglutinated into microscopic clumps surrounded by obscurity, by my halfwife, I think as I’m suqeez in the Thirties, smelled sour because it was tootwoly