Righto. Right ho. Today I went to Milonda's 4 times! To faff around i.e., where I met my dear friend Batman. Whose batman? For shame, he is no valid valet, he is a superhero, a Lennon shenanigan, while he (you know who!) is Rainman! Hee hee. Oh stupid! So then dear stoner-loner told me about how kinky Goblin Market is...how utterly twisted...woe for the little girls corrupted so early by their ahem!
OK. I am so sleepy only, but about to defrost my mind with Arnoldian prose. When he began the dialogue with his own mind, why did he not stop to consider whether he was really spreading sweetness and light or some mildewed (sticky) raspberry jam that stinks miles and miles until all the Margarets and Marguerites and Margrits and Margots run...you get the drift, eh?
I am sick of literary allusions. I realize this post sucks. (d)Over Beach i.e., I am not over Beach. If only the butler did it!
You can see how excaaite I am. What can I say? Spenser, Sophocles, Seneca, the Rossettis. Read the last of the lot. After them three with names beginning with S-es. Why do I exist?
My laptop just answered the question.
His name is Lenovo Thinkpad.