Rich aroma, loamly floating wafting racing across thous’nd crisp clasp grasp. Caressed a lass, ne’er wan’ring, e’er eware o’ that insufferable insurmountable indesirable compunction which canly be waned by desire, ’n’ tru shell all-ways go after.
Dour dor; swshscreeecktptptptp.
Finnegan, whose shen cud rare compare to thae comely constable. An’ Pinkie, her torches o’ feminity ’n’ grace en even lief isself a litehoose in that rocky shore of allday existin’.
They too oft danced this selfsame dance—his very own profferences regurlay prefered at the squat penk building. The wurds, the re-quest, the very ordah writ by a far greatah writer than any av’reg.
Th’ lass was prompt, tho this shock nor wet aithah part.
A bite of bit, a whisper o’ prawn. This was as fleeting as the most ignoble brigand, and ne’er so crass or curmudgeon as such a shadow.
The fluff isself was is as the very masterful work, the likes of Bacchus hisself woulda thirsted for its drink, hungered for its centre. Finnegan, brawly Finnegan, skinneh Finnegan, his teeth each a bolt of Zeus upon the Titan of flavor, each an Inquisition upon its sinful, heretical brogue.
glasswindow
glasswindow Finnegan again glasswindow
glasswindow
Pinkie Pie
F 2 work
Thirty-two after eleven, an ignoble number, for Finnegan knew what lay there, in that, most egregious minuet of thyme.