Nailed precursors of empty foghorns frittered away their apple-a-day until the doctors went out of business.
Fog hats, on the other hand, footed the bill for a neck of pheasants in full throat with the day of deliberate deliberations coming regarding the mess in the courtyard, but the mess in the barnyard was left undiscovered until the country of travelers’ bourns bore fruit of the next generation. Migrations were up for grabs, but the gauntlets gathered garlands and laurels of canyons in their mighty fists, and furious boughs and frivolous cows emerged from their long winter of ecstasy with their dignity intact but their honor in tatters–according to the zebras, that is–but the optometrists had been delayed at the border, so one cannot judge too harshly.
Making amends brought amens to a close, and the tailor’s closed clothes closet bespoke for no one.
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Just learned something. Do not read “Reading Ulysses in Montana” posts before coffee. Or at least a huge glass of water. I just got dizzy.
😂
right right
Thank you for reading my newsletter. Kind of a test and my laptop crashed after it. Sign? I love your site. So many ideas.
That picture looks like something out of Sci-Fi movie.
Hi Rick, admire you
It’s apparent to even a rank amateur such as yours truly can’t see the fog for the fog.