Sentence The Onehundredandtwentyfirst
Theresa wasn't feeling too well; she thought she was dying – and if RIP were written on her descanso, it would stand not for Requiescat in Pace, but rather, Regurgitate in Pieces – like the diced carrots which are always there, no matter that you haven't eaten them for yonks; and her feverish imagination, so twitterpated felt she, wondered what it would be like to live in a hermitage on a desolate rock in the turbulent seas, with no world beyond the cliff edge to fret her; and she typed 'Theresa wasn't feeling too well' into Google Images and one of the pictures was of Theresa May in a
bilious green jacket and a skirt far too short for her knobbly knees, and Theresa grabbed another sick-bag and spewed again – then haltingly typed: “ah've wrotten wottah've writ butta cannae wricht nae mair,” and hit submit.
Theresa wasn't feeling too well; she thought she was dying – and if RIP were written on her descanso, it would stand not for Requiescat in Pace, but rather, Regurgitate in Pieces – like the diced carrots which are always there, no matter that you haven't eaten them for yonks; and her feverish imagination, so twitterpated felt she, wondered what it would be like to live in a hermitage on a desolate rock in the turbulent seas, with no world beyond the cliff edge to fret her; and she typed 'Theresa wasn't feeling too well' into Google Images and one of the pictures was of Theresa May in a
bilious green jacket and a skirt far too short for her knobbly knees, and Theresa grabbed another sick-bag and spewed again – then haltingly typed: “ah've wrotten wottah've writ butta cannae wricht nae mair,” and hit submit.
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