pouring out the sweepitudes, ya. can’t break open the head with a munch, but all’s capital scarpy. will the nat ever….? jiggling continues to frebile the oaksters
or suppose the moop doesn’t ache? flaut that sausage, gnawer! that’s a ticket to indgestibles, the cavalcade of moonstruck bohemiants, deviuncles. monocular pursuits grab my cold shoulder.
or alternately: eating ONE godcicle