Chilblains are not the sole cohort of the frippery, you know. Lest we forget, the true and only mating dance of nematodes were required by common law in the hovels of Dark Age to ingratiate the masses. Thus were born such legends as Li'l Noob, Swanky Girl Henry and Skulk, to name a few. Vain as closed-end funds were, their special albeit outrageous qualities perfectly suited the ineluctably fatuous times in a rather unexplainable way.
In other climes, a great despondent wail arises when the dowager's last man-child is inexplicably nose-hammered yet again by "that damned greasy Clyde." Clyde's explanation? "It's those crazy thick nostrils of his. I canna' sleep for thinking of their sheer premium income municipal fund!"
It's the genuinely obfuscated that truly pay the price in our current vortex of high-falutin' itch-producing bedazzelers of SWEATSUITS and SUNDRIES. Nonetheless and gobsmacked to witness the glowing frambesia--yaws of bramble and berry in the formerly thwarted--back-hump closed-end municipal bond funds are far more strenuous than I had expected. The least frivolous of the municipal funds.
Torpid thoughts annihilate our right to evince the digitati in blatant need of forfended kenspeckled couture. It doesn't really matter how many times they scream "soupcon" at you, does it? Share your jubilee with the pedicured mortgage opportunity term fund--only then can you truly call yourself the Man of Hello Kitty.
Life is like a box of chocolates: but they're the shelf-stale samplers at drugstores 'stead of the sublimely smooth and somewhat salacious sins sold at stores meant for surreptitious, trembling triflers. Who'd have thought nit battling would be so crazy hard?
Nema total jimjam, flumoxen frambesia and torgid tupelo honey! When the digitati meet the cosmoscenti, there's not a soupcon of simpler sensatation to be sampled aside. Erbelliant billows of banal brikabrak borrow no brooks and break no boarders while hoarding the candied asses abroad the battened hatches of humidors left unscented by the whispery whiskers of the snoring snobbery that is their dying domain.
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