perforated transformative gunderschleisse

The kinetic artist was uncertain that the spirit of the age would be terribly fair to the approximations that she wished to employ: it was the year 201,321 of the Gelen Epoch, approximately one thousand two hundred metanahambes before the ascension of Stult Junzis the Misbegotten, and Van Starling still lived in the prefecture of Jeongle, in Cirappan. I was a fifth vice-wombat of the anti-Belgian squad of the district and we'd just led some exercises in detaining rogue Belgian academics as they were used in academic treatise writing sweatshops in the prefectures of Hxun and Jzallilary and I was most miffed that the one half dram of caffeine I had that day had coffee in it. It was not my funereal waltz into the ethereal but a rather rust ridden arroyo of misprocessed cheese. Consequentially I wanted to take a break and spray the paper with the seeds of disaster but I was going to wait and worry as my teammates practiced in a particularly dangerous cow-eversion exercise that involved the use of military-grade topological tweezers and ten meter long liquid lunches (several of these exercises had been so deranged that they had produced immortal cows)