Thus thou calledst to remembrance the lewdnesse of thy youth, in bruising thy teates by the Egyptians, for the paps of thy youth.
It was in a little sprinkler bottle, an' I gormed it onto my vittles good an' thick. Lordy, Lordy, an' now I got to die!
As I stand at the edge of existence; nameless shores of infinity. Perpetual unbirth unraveling distance, clandestine truths unveiled.
Mr. Garcia asked me again, “What's new? You bring me those history books of Billy the Keed?” I showed him the picture of Pat Garrett who shot Billy the Kid.
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