The summation thanks, finds neurotle and ketza in the coati world carapace with single mutton binge and press. That hurled has its arbitrations and kingies; no claps no claires no multitongued tanguys no baader-boppeds no simple walks (that assuredly sway you away)(away from the Directors)(Directors of the Play). No, of that I'm certain. An eclipse of factum is ridiculed by the nonscents and hawks, and under no fault, by none, nihil, nightly. Rightsome sewn? Bothersome brown? Too many shortcomings. Part three: two loaves of bread worn as slippers, inappropriate camouflage, and a purple voice changer... hiding in a bathroom. Mind the stares!
(eyes used for tooth support)
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