I tainted the sleeping beetle: the secondary recommendation of the future occupants of all spacetime had a helical twist to the right as the crow flies: the magical moment of the f-i ligature has always happened, and has never happened in this nahambe. By the Cormorants of the Unsung Leratiun Gamvolbotty I had a wonzlo sterling for all of the misquoted piper rainbow nickelodeon campy-kitsch machine blinkenlights interruptors: I was at the bottom of my game, my misaccuracy was the least of my problems at that point: I didn't want to leave new Mandroborough for Flendavar or Bialkenius. The transdiphthongous itinerants who drifted through on various electromagnetic spectral oscillations because we hadn't yet sealed those chance-pleats in the great Pair of The Cosmic Pants: I advocated a relaxed attitude of lazy evaluation and passable water molecule mandanganai at every concievable opportunity: our concierge had made it clear to us that to take the mu bus would require us to surrender a mu token, and this was by far the most reasonable and comprehensible request we had of us for the entire tour, for we weren't instructed to put mustard up our nostrils, or to repolarize the ether, or to vacuum-spark the dynarchy of the ulterior motives, or to perform change of basis multimodular preserving hypertransformations on the local nassgreve germ field: if your eyes hadn't glazed over by this point they would soon glaze over from the sheer amount of incomprehensible information being presented at such a rapid and nearly unbelievable pace: what the hell is a “ semisphenic polychromic G-module preserving Fravxanal transformation on the subsidiary Willings Space”? all about anyway -- it is a mystery to me, and my mathematics isn't bad, either.
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