Sentence The Sixhundredandthirtysixth

President Donald Duck Trumpet-Trousers grinned from ear to ear: "this is beautiful, the most beautifullest day of our life, to discover that our illustrious ancestor Sir Parlane MacFarlane is a Five Star General in the good old Army of the US of A of which We are Kommandant in Chief, come, break open a bottle of 1745 Trumpington Triple Malt while we potch this hard-boiled warrior on the back and bring some gutbread for he must be ravishing after his route-march from JFK to be here with us - we find the Royal We, the majestic plural (pluralis majestatis in Latin, literally, 'the plural of majesty'), becomes us in this highest of public offices, Sir Par, may we call you that? good man. good man, you will notice that we have no more ataraxia now that we only have to wiggle our little pinkie to get the fullest of best service and attention, what's that?" and MacFarlane asked: "whit fur dae ye

wiggle yer little pinkie fur, Mon, ye shoodnae dae that lessen yer shaggin or pissin! an a wudnae be tellin aw n sundry than it's a wee ane tae!" and Duck gave an involuntary shudder at which his toupee slid forward towards his nose, before his Chief of Staff, without a word being said from anyone, gracefully slid it back up atop the Potus's handsome cranium and fixed it in place with a wad of well-chewed gum!