Mellifluous garlic ostracises a beatified crown of sarcasm.

 Kim and I have been working our way through a few of my favourite classic TV series.

Prevaricate upon receipt of the umpteenth reversal of phlegm.

We’ve already smashed our way through Firefly and various Aaron Sorkin masterpieces.

Deuteronomistic aioli generates vacuously in favour of the elderly.

We’re currently cruising happily through a few seasons of Boston Legal, which recently brought me back to what is possibly my favourite scene of all time.


Word salad happens to describe almost perfectly my understanding of the known universe at the moment, which is fine, because as far as I can figure it out, the universe that I have any clue about stretches about as far as the front door of our unit, and even that’s a little iffy at times.

Jamaicans extrapolate alarming farces from the face of dexterous uncertainty. Strike it if we’re kittens, but algebra is largely churlish. Sweeten the ordinance with a gambit of unordained melody. Widget loafers! Trot up the ambiguous golf mezzo.

Make of that a rambunctious calorie.


Garry with 2 Rs

PS Nudge the violet eagle to a scrumptious filibuster.

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