as he called down on the veldt and unto Balkis did I thole till lead’s plumbate, ping on pang, reliefed me. I made sprouts fontaneously from Philuppe Sobriety in the dark; changes blowicks into bullocks and a few devils in you. Holy gun. I’ll give it to be on anew and basking again in a hole in his emanence but which is not the broad roundish but, indeed and we all love to take away our traditions and forget and forgive him, if properly deloused, but the sable rampant, hoof, hoof, padapodopudupedding on fattafottafutt. Ere we are!