Just trying to poke a hole in your impregnable logic. Hooded ounces, said Buffon, cling to the driven hind during the the last turn of the screw. The carpenter nailed his brick of mormolite duing these drying times. A jobber’s douzen of bases balked from here to eternity.
This has been a panty raid. Jeepers creepers, pardon my french, my fellow friend of freedom. And pass the twig of prosperity to Saint Eskimo. Exximo. Let me get this strait, you get the next.
Jesus had no nest, he had no nid to reside. He had all of the fertile crescent on the upside of his head and looked down on the rest of the world.
If I could just make one child smile, I would dig a hole to middle earth and bury a hoard of hobbits. If I could just spring yon mouse out of his trap which I set, I would sing hossanahs in triplicate to the appropriate authorities. If I could save the life of one riscotted mosquito, I would make a pilgrimage to the peaks of the Hindu Kush. If I ever receive the medal of honor, I will give thanks to the presidents and all their bankers. Backers. Back benchers. Back to the landers. Lantern bearers. Mummblers of the omlet in search of the horninest man. Our own Genghis Kahn. Check your genes at the gate to gain root.
Ignore the preceding transpositions at your peril. We have fired our spell checkers. Witches in cheap clothing. From the sally ann.