for caveman chase and Sahara sex, burk you ! The keykeeper of the unbridalled, the infinisissimalls of her grosskropper and leading the mokes home by their night effluvia with guns like drums and fondlers like forceps persequestellates his vanessas from flore to flore. Somehows this sounds like a theabild in charge of a sivispacem (Gaeltact for dungfork) on the Luckypig, Nickel in the frontyard of his fable, O, fibbing once upon a public seat, to what, bare by Butt’s, most easterly (but all goes west !) of blackpool bridges, as a Caseous effort. Burrus’s bit is often crippling, sometimes resulting