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There once was a freet who did not want to verify his routification. He instead fuzzified the conglomerate, thus discombobulating the intereradification, and further sullying the inner zamboni of the penguin. Said penguin, having imbued the discolorification with hair-raising vibrancy, proceeded to compile the terrafirmism of the obsoletist establishment in an effort to emulch the confirmed supraelitism of the superego, only to discover that a superseded deliverable emulating a precutanean porpoise never remaps cumulonimbi. Esperanto estas internaciona lingvo. Of course, in Spanish this would mean: "Esperanto, you are quite the internatinal linguist today." or "Esperanto, you are temporarily an international linguist." or ... "Esperanto, you are an internaciona lingvo and you killed my brother Raoul. Get out of my house." But that's not the point, right? Well, yes, there are some cases in which smiting is essential, but you have to know these cases. e.g. A 500-pound rhinoceros is baring down on you screaming "Smite me! Smite me!". What do you do? Smite, obviously. But you have to think fast because if the same rhinoceros is in fact shouting "Pink tangerines on speed! Pink tangerines on speed!", then the last thing you want to do is smite. The Search for Life Without Pegnoraphene. They would seek, search, and hunt. So the story was told, as the Freet had told it eons before. For what was life without pegnoraphene? In fact, what on Earth was pegnoraphene anyway? Was it not entirely unlike having not enough understanding and overstating of inadequately overbearing yet underestimated overlords? Such was the crux of the dilemma. For if not entirely failing to underrepresent the misunderstandings of the overtly unethical overtures was under the overindulging overhead of the underhanded overcompensation of underwater overflow, then what was the point, really? Citing the furiously frustrating and flaunted anachronism of the mesotemple complex, the sardonically stupendous sardine casually but sarcastically pontificated on the nature of the overzealous distenperturbation. 'Flopphobble,' commented the nearby shrew. 'And blipphindle, to boot.'' Hey, cold-man! Listen up! HEY HEY! Listen to me man who once had a mustache but no more! Man who speaks of clams as though they rule the world. Man who says I will wear sarong but does not. Man who catches frisbee well. Pay atten-tion, silly man. Why are you not with me speaking about the things. And for to be things speaking about as well. Where is your rutabega now? Hein? HEIN! Man who works for big fancy three-letter company. I will tell yew where to put your silly global services and your funny letterbox ads. Where are you, funny man!? Man with cold who listens not to furious typing. Man who goes to India but comes back with no purple elephant. And calls himself a man. Don't talk to me of your petunias, silly man. I am shaking with rage at your ignoring me, silly man. Man who speaks Italian as if gelato grew on trees. Ah! Enough! So sad. So lonely. So mollusk-free. A tragedy unforseen and unparalleled. Of epic, bubbly proportions. Reefs, hot jets, sand dollars. But no mollusk. And so what is the point? To float aimlessly? To blow bubbles tauntingly at the shellfish? Why? When there is no mollusk, there is no reason. So sad. Oh sweet phone, how ringest thou with good news and bad, and oft times telemarketing. Cradle aloft, cordfull - cordless. Gentle tones ... but missing crucial frequecies for human speech. Such joy you bring by connecting people and occasionally falling on their feet. |