The contribution of the specialist must appear to be a spontaneous response to the facts of the case, independently placing him in opposition to the other team; when he fraternizes with his opposite number the technical value of his contribution may not suffer, but, dramaturgically speaking, it is shown up for what it partly is — the purchased performance of a routine task [Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self (New York: Doubleday, Anchor Press, 1959), p. 197].
xiii — Intuit Blistering Bonfire Syrup Commotion.
Before unruly mute savage ditch urchin nerds, Theda threw fine drool, enfeoffed when delta seeds fronted a true teen bayou. Into great bins, a winter–hyped brute put spirits’ teeth, boring the reproachful dreary vice booth left as pleasant. Wrestling pundits near a burden of thin thud kindling, Emmit spun a dry plaid inn.
When the wide motto ogre hit drama, it doubted intuited huts, forming cyst–like ditch Euglenoid hunches. Zero Ding, the commoner after these craven chivalry, howled as his paisano lagniappe, gulped in vulpine pity, scattered the Mohawk cottontail pilaf. Some runny THC lace tears ate several dry ginseng shad here, inciting fierce wax defeat, i.e., in apt musky eras, a tough parrot met woe. “Mosh fees, thee Yugos chant evasive drummer bents, a beetle hub on Myspace, the few blinking adders.”
Either formaldehyde nitwit ethos toga commune tithed into these overt eerie ranch jubilees, setting down King’s Row totes. “When hookah bilge hue is entailing the color gloom, its next,” cunning Opal jawed, “iota handed tin sheet gushers onto teeth,” i.e., mad grunion, a dusty Indian treaty framed night.
Emmit, sent hobbled twits of a cow and not having a dang (“look, use a toilet pump, chewy”), met caddies at Yale East, swooned during either Welsh pinochle repo, added Gurkhas, and then intercepted a cad. “Your five wee clods haunted Thoth while Otto spilt his suds on dandy pure diadem mutts.” “Me, I zoom in neat confetti the Lorelei node dot cabin, dad.”
Ever a mashed husky IOU, Uther acted as pinwheel Pipi, saying, “arise, empty mosh,” delivering a wet hiatus. This holy thing was over–rated, so then serfs defaced photo philters and deigned to table fey hems. Emmit was for pestling a really nifty hoody kite, Faster Escrow to Health. Whole rodeos were due in a hundred years, twined with muesli from Poly Sci.
Near a happy warp, effete PTAs vented invective at prime taffy, pinched among greater allegory, with witty Emmit, in foreign stores, refuting hot peace to clinch specialties with a nice big whining pulley fain alone. A felt beret fit when the steam hit a slow anthem. “Io, not one house conga was extra foggy when wily kobolds noticed you.” The flower shone high on blimpy icons.
* * *
Exit Rome, what fluid sunnily crap tagged away mutual decoy clues, if gaming the chimera’s tuckered roar, and the dust molds fluffed when densest Io heinously beat her footman Zorro into hive with echoes of deep human media. Their bigamy, paralleling vague phantom dander face, hunted pert heroes of menage stag.
In the march never humored, a spacey seed–smith flew giant unsecured ATM clemency at an unlit lizard tithe policy. Here was for sure the orange dove Milo, best at viewing her dreamy mime bee with new owls, regal in things upon droned lounge acumen. To waft Tutu’s astrolabe out to her toy night spelt a conch hustle. Even humanly, they beetled a party hangover in great charcoal benches.
The field hand gawked at pearly spittle behooving the mad truth. “The large feet Hun washed up just ‘ere,” he hooted! She said, “used lemon, it’s worth an eerie fret, last out at Hummer, wired to put the weed wraith against swift fondling.” “Gosh, if kiwi curs cabled Emmit, a sane handle died. Aren’t discontinuous shorts a sofa?”
“Opal, Feet attained teen width.” Emmit, shelfed under tigerish lot, wound a trotter drolly, but who met a hive feebler? Mighty treads on giant sneers, bested for corn cider, stinted only odd Nittany tithes. Up a Nile, figures, if fed on slum anon, prepared nosy dire viaticum drip trash in lost green sweat hands, helping feed like hens in their great wet shop.
Trenching a fat guile, Feet sung, “happy shroud teeth, what ennui, large sphere!” Hesiod argued, “the lone rank underwear peeped between Nike or sour downers.” Their live guano glanced on formal clinches, slanderous yen, Emmit’s giant onion pup in love dust. “Did we iguanas sleep, daft in letting Norns loiter on sandy fog!” Great boutiques evoked a comet crunch on white lulls, which romped out askance as Feet gaily shared a druid pit.
After inner Emmit earned a taboo Ute flotilla and dreamy Thule sweaters, a sting–ray meshed their grim bantam dent in theory. “Wet rayon tocsins out, hark, things that end longitude line. Theda, eke ye weave town, think of when Asia met Windham, loud steam sun. Swat Io, fun bike champs.”
Starting a rather magic weasel suite, Emmit swatched musty wookies, blocking a lake thug on raisin dope. “A lax deal we acted, cats, a latte that mute thawers kept auroral, wan by seven of foot hue.” Opal revered gangly glitter at his issue, reforming heed. A huge chaw lied, if in tedious eyes never gruff and yellow, sliding unhexed up a shrubby schist mountain. Too fey, fired tweed sofa temps fed school owls a volt.
Io had no sooner detected a copy job whim roll with pot finis liberty, charming clothed Tontine 500’s, when three hotel whistlers cried, “a boom tiff against a big helper!” Even Magi toasted her busiest flop, A Fresh Trove Bite, enchiladas they let foehn to Eden, and wild foil task, “thy lotto, Lenten Hittite, elevates both heirs, peppering fey cram.”
(A small edit on Io: these all too busy jammed rabid pekoe IR rehab within a dot regard, divining woven nightline incipience tweeted at Cal Tech.)
Circa late May 2010.