The cat’s in the ladle and the sliver of infinity inflated the giant pig over Battersea Station prolonging Ginger’s whims and ecstatic ecstasies.
See, you only get out what you put into the thing, disregarding the negligible friction with the diction of your peers, flown all the way from Guernsey, 89211. Oh my, the last out in the bottom of the ninth went too far for foreign dignitaries to dig into the past of a Proustian time lapse, lapping the outstanding field and flowing with the glow of a low worm, turning against the foot that stopped trodding on it long ago this past December. Remember the titanic Titans of yestermorn? Upheavals are not your every day run of the mill kind of sugared cereal leaving the sludgy milk at the bottom of the bowl that takes six years off your life each time you think about it.
Ginger snored but George ignored everything, being bored by nature (his nature), cats and ladles be damned to slices of eternal infernal infinity.
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What a great album cover that was.
As always, this offering was a fun ride
Cats, infinity, and pigs, all in the first have sentence. That’s so Joycean. I might adore this sight.~Honoring Bloomsday. Don Ward JamesJoyceReadingCircle.com and Finishing Ulysses.
I might be very pleased. Thanks!
Infinity is a lifestyle and junk
Compensate.