Sassequatanach. Horticultural filigree, diamantine silver watches, garroted priests filleted by the pasqual. Inky blot light, fulminating transformer cargo pants. Entire legions of tigrated heathanical toltops. Joyous sills entire parsimonious puritanical fog. Girls green white lacy deckers, passing stranger down avenues in sepia clouds. Gnarled iron balustrades, tinctured nicotine viridian downgrading into nebulous ferrous outerways. Scintillating flecks of grit. Orangutans fulminating against the tricksy mustachioed brilliantined devastators. Barrels of sly blankets whoopsieing front back and center. Guts. Intestinal vestments demarcated for the pathetic priests who whinge and carry on despite the adverse nature of the pious homes. Garrulous fremantles. Heaving hirsute hogs. Devilishly delicious pies of grime. I want to eat your earlobes. Tearing up the pale oaken boards to reveal the interstitial dusty cracks that advance like lobotomized steam trains along the vesicles of variety. Don’t allow the party hounds to snozzle out the grimgeous balloons that float and dance over the obsidian roof tops. Everybody must slip off their garters and hand over their popsicle guns. Nobody goes. Nobody leaves. A forest of dry heaving oaks. I cannot wannot planet hanet cannit here we go. Slide rules rule ok, if the withered hag apples do not insist upon their prima noctae rights. One by one we march in turn, wheel and deal in the basement traps, looking out from under velveteen fedora brims at the tentaculated opportunists who smile insincerely and warm our hearts for doing so.
Give me frabjouous. Give me joy.