Slipping and sliding things are tithing over into that purple satin silk fish basket that they pass round in the church only for you to Lurch forward and disgust yourself with Ice cream patte my bray you are formetomey that is what my tummy likes:when it laughs like a saddened fish in a desert wasteland drinking it`s tears only to realize this too shall pass and me too shall grasp the wayward lancing spears of Sir Love allot losing the plot,Frot goes the weasel The Chipmunks do rejoice.  J