After a couple of deeds executed by betelsellers, once more we have an endowment by Nagaka arranging betelsellers […]

His nose starts squirting blood right before I kick him square in the twig and giggle berries.

Where a home run or a sixty-yard forward pass may have the captivating properties of a well-hit golf shot, and many on-lookers have played or still participate in those games, they depend on the machinations of others — a mispitch at the waist, a fleet, sure-handed receiver, or a lax defender. The golfer, though, stands alone.

You clamber up because you boast a pair of sea-eyes, when any babber-lipped black in the waist must have sighted them the sooner.