If I had not bought the pianola I would not have put it in the breakfast room. If neither Egypt frees me, my rest is proportional, my rest is relative, my rest at best conjecture, and if all I’d ever seen were verticals, I’d process horizontals poorly if at all.

I’m sorry that I placed my trust in you, my fifth third bank. It’s not the content of my peroration but that I am talking nonstop. Who was fooling? An instantiation culminating in a cataclysm? Who induced the butterfly to move?

Eat only from the tree of ignorance and faulty logic. Is the thing bereft of feathers clinging to the broken bell in Philadelphia this Christmas Eve? Why do they have their wallets out and why is there a line of them around the block? Of eighteen all but seventeen are saved.