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plight or, played fox and lice, pricking and dropping hips teeth,
or wringing his handcuffs for peace, the blind blighter, praying
Dieuf and Domb Nostrums foh thomethinks to eath; if he
weapt while he leapt and guffalled quith a quhimper, made cold
blood a blue mundy and no bones without flech, taking kiss,
kake or kick with a suck, sigh or simper, a diffle to larn and a
dibble to lech; if the fain shinner pegged you to shave his im-
martial, wee skillmustered shoul with his ooh, hoodoodoo! brok-
ing wind that to wiles, woemaid sin he was partial, we don't
think, Jones, we'd care to this evening, would you?
     Answer: No, blank ye! So you think I have impulsivism? Did 
they tell you I am one of the fortysixths? And I suppose you
heard I had a wag on my ears? And I suppose they told you too
that my roll of life is not natural? But before proceeding to con-
clusively confute this begging question it would be far fitter for
you, if you dare! to hasitate to consult with and consequentially
attempt at my disposale of the same dime-cash problem elsewhere
naturalistically of course, from the blinkpoint of so eminent a
spatialist. From it you will here notice, Schott, upon my for the
first remarking you that the sophology of Bitchson while driven
as under by a purely dime-dime urge is not without his cashcash
characktericksticks, borrowed for its nonce ends from the fiery
goodmother Miss Fortune (who the lost time we had the pleasure
we have had our little [[recherché]] brush with, what, Schott?) and
as I further could have told you as brisk as your D.B.C. beha-
viouristically pailleté with a coat of homoid icing which is in
reality only a done by chance ridiculisation of the whoo-whoo
and where's hairs theorics of Winestain. To put it all the more
plumbsily. The speechform is a mere sorrogate. Whilst the qua-
lity and tality (I shall explex what you ought to mean by this with
its proper when and where and why and how in the subsequent
sentence) are alternativomentally harrogate and arrogate, as the
gates may be.
     Talis is a word often abused by many passims (I am working 
out a quantum theory about it for it is really most tantumising
state of affairs). A pessim may frequent you to say: Have you been