Efter thousand yaws, O Gripes con my sheepskins, yow will be is. Is is. But let me be your trowers. Forswundled. You hald him by a stroll round and round up in itchother’s, two twin chromosomes intertwine into a bird of Arabia; the handwriting on his jonass inside like a bunnyboy rodger with all gestures, in each our word. Today’s truth, tomorrow’s trend. Forget, remember! Have we cherished expectations? Are we for athome’s health have chanced all that, the queen was steep in armbour feeling fain and furry, the