Today I caught a cursory glimpse of a tiny arachnid: this money spider was scene-stealing from his comrades, weaving widdershins to their adroit web.
We fain would hear the reasons why a lentiner should be caught, simply because there is saloop on the menu, and the parson's exegesis interpreted the text about birds incorrectly.
I did not object to being called a minaudiere, but when I watched the performers funambulate I thought they were much more classy than I, so I ran tantivy style in haste to the dressmaker, in the tenebrous evening, to obtain some sequinned tutus.
"Come, take a pamphlet", the henotheist cried
Read about this one God, won't you come inside?
But I, a pantophobiac, really must decline.
For fear of any other Gods
I may need to malign
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