In the heaven’s like culprit of fear appears a stark reality of lever-nosed blowhards. Knowing not whether it was a cultured façade of belt-driven faded dungarees or not, very few coarse-throated bellywinkles felt it appropriate enough to toss to the side of the drunken highway all of its forbidden rules of conduct.
“Toss aside all fruitless bedeviledness once professed in the outer chambers gaining sweat.” The fork-toothed giant said as he scorched the belly of the midget with his angry reconnaissance. “You have little or no sense of loitering to be calling down fitful blights under this summer’s vengeful sky when there’s more work to be done filling your tanks full of tomorrow’s troubles.”
And so the blind pipe snaked its way through all of the computer driven facsimiles of truth in search of teetering smiles so intended for keepsakes. They could never really let it all go. Who would want to risk all of the snares destined to outweigh the balanced beleaguered cliffs of plundered quandaries. It just takes too long.