Now, I hadn’t had sex in a week. Neither had I enjoyed the long baths of Wisterio’s Payne. I took up the newspaper from the window.
A series of Lattitudinal flexions on turpid breadths catches an inner flux, within yuo. The taste of the inner atoms is shiny, so I infleX even deEper on an inter-lattitudinal forey to go.
Splashes of EenflexEon (TM) on dotted speckles, mired along the surface of a glassy screen. A Nestor’s faces’ Lasts.
So the editorials went. I checked the commercials. I went up to the kitchen to cook up a nasty meal. Tantalising, with the traditional Ultra-hot spiciness of Urhobo versions.
The last time I checked, I was the numero Uno:
PS: Psychological tremors in ritch iTchy-wiTchy is an non egalliic controversia in the Institutuium of Metallica and in RiverSia: