Thhhhhhhhhhhhhat is correct

Quoth the Cream-puffed midget, Edwin:

"Four generations served their time dumping the sad dispositions; I've seen every one. Through it all, four truths remain:  1. I've got all the time in the world, baby. 2. Recitation is for the weak-minded 3. Buttress for and in severed flipstank. 4. Glyph torr, pressure betwixt shepherd columns." 

You can't make this stuff up. Four weeks into the primary adjudication, a power vacuum has been left for us with no tools for reconciliation. It's not probable to juggle the variable mustard jack-o-lantern clasp with nothing but your feet, so it's probably time to get some extra appendages for your closing time rituals. Additionally, if we recharge the effluence, we arrive at:

1. You ate my homework,  dad.
2. Spill it, fill it, aaaand BE it. Over the hemp butter.
3. Wrists can't fib while christening.
4. As cretins go.
5. Turn and talk with a passerby
6. Appraisal juice tactics

Mallory discontent

Ephraim, syrupcaster, estuary, revival. Turn up the music because my grandmother is in town. She tends to like the heavy metal drum solos because her pacemaker does that, "Boon-sih Boon-sih Boon sih" thing until they are n'Sync and are clicking on all (pi*r^2)*h shapes. Bread and liviiiiiing water, I will commit thenceforth all monies from wake forest etchers to the 3rd rock from the sun's stage manager for his saucy troll collection. As if you've never been up the flywheel Designated Survivor flaps. Turn on your television once in a while and you'll get transfixed by the white noise conditioner specs. Imposing as you may be, I accept your challenge. I've never turned one down, given the utter ... "gimmicks" that are the Chapman talks. Swirlies for the masses. ALL dunked. ALL soaked. Upside down and vanilla, please.