thanks a lot!

never accept
accept with a shrug

hey momma bomma you got lots to lose, we are food for news to the french fries in the parlour oven in the armoury, in the big fat testamental thai poon preponderances.

now listen to this: "To the polemicists in the squash court, the retro-night nightmare nerds, the queen-sized hangover-helpers who urinate on uranium festivals in the middle of winter; to the wintry black whirlpools of insidious discontent; to the popular magical moonshine swug at a drop and retched with a cough, to the lopped off chopper-top mopman made of copper: thanks a lot."

My brain's in my fingers, my fingerfalls on clacky-path, a dancing surfnet web of flaregun syntax firin and inspired wrist writhing, jittery spacebar smashing litterbug-letterbugs with the qwerty-bashing and scatterbrained scat-maimed name wraiths.

Use this sentence at your discretion; don't blame me if it makes you boogie!

"Your toast is singed until crispy, speakers sexy but lispy, clouds permanently wispy, the doo-dah is snappily zippity."

Yah yah you big fat fool
yah pass me the appropriate tool
yah plate full of gruel
you were so cruel
to become a monkey mule,
brayed all sunday evening
because you couldn't pass your stool

(you need more fibre in your diet!)

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