Sentence The Onehundredandninetyfifth
And Sayid, AKA The Economic Migrant, giggled at Elginbrod's cries of “Olio, Olio,” and was overcome with blithesome chortles at this aural distillation of his Target's haecceity and the sheer abundant haplography exposed by the speech-to-print sheets issuing from his Dell All-In-One and rolled about with a twelve-year-old's natural glee when he opened his laptop and saw the eminent Edinburgh Advocate's contorted crimson features illuminating his surroundings with the
 
incandescence of his infernal, internal combustion meltdown; and he sent stills to an anonymously untraceable Twitter Account #elginbreed's-deid which he was sure would be brought to the lawyer's attention on his arrival in Chambers at about the same time Sayid and his Posse would be having a kick-a-boot in the Playground of Drumchapel High!

Comments

Popular Posts