Kadaitcha Man <nntp.news@gmail.com>, the buck-toothed-leper and
tip-tilted anal explorer who likes disgusting tapioca tube tugging with
sheep, and whose partner is a fast-woman with a malignant na-ner na-ner
pudding, wrote in <qu8kp.k8j.17.1@news.alt.net>:
> Nothing to see here... move along, you lot... move along...
>

I'll put my cock away then.


--
For my own part, I have never had a thought which I could not set down
in words with even more distinctness than that with which I conceived
it. There is, however, a class of fancies of exquisite delicacy which
are not thoughts, and to which as yet I have found it absolutely
impossible to adapt to language. These fancies arise in the soul, alas
how rarely. Only at epochs of most intense tranquillity, when the
bodily and mental health are in perfection. And at those weird points
of time, where the confines of the waking world blend with the world of
dreams. And so I captured this fancy, where all that we see, or seem,
is but a dream within a dream.