Arapulskietta and the Darthington Mroab

Oh, Wulsterfloygh, did you not harness the chance of the century? Did you not, in the tonnages of time, with arabesques of the purest iridium, shine like the radiant Aramhac on the fields of Lohaspo by the Arthuygnian? Oh Golloschella and the batterbonds of Cvisse did the sulferfumblers of the gorge get their reptillian revenances in order. It is a last resort of the foolish, a commandment by which our avauntular (avaunt, avaunt, exeunt!) and avuncular vice-cheeses can find solace in the grilled varieties in vacuous victuallers from here to the wilds of Sanhelamon.
If they claim that coherence is the boondoggle of the spiritually bewildered, then I must be like a tree-river on the edges of the Oceans of Reason, because, unlike the dithering lots of the clerestories and the binary enigmas of Sar Argyre, I juggle.