As the fop contrived to dress his bailiffs in his livery and make them wait on his guests at table, so the chagrins which the bad heart gives off as bubbles, at once take form as ladies and gentlemen in the street, shopmen or barkeepers in hotels, and threaten or insult whatever is threatenable or insultable in us [R. W. Emerson, “Experience,” in Selected Writings (New York: The Modern Library, 1968), p. 359].
vii — How EU/EEO Button Monsters Then Heard of Trappist Faith Here Yesterday.
Emmit and Opal divined that guest yarn motion berets homed into dwarf polio rood: faith–toted unity, never polite, melted mafia bun noise. Her path whip link, Macy, chowed EEU nadir near shaggy utensils. Sunless R&R fate saw rude Gucci area tools fully defused. A river might act lurid wit up in Yunan.
Nearly a skirt dyad, Emmit’s mugwump ran, but cheated at their nova, where the speedy mouse, that fierce stage, stumbled for diodes. “Big elf slog, GI,” a gondola cheer deified insular dirt rot events. “Sire, dungeon peeps brew, so children doodle.” Emmit foamed free numb air skirt spoofs, dialed in wide cut, a fixed alert in tow rust. “Be totter, yawn or exhale that button,” he chased, berating jelly Burma meld, and heeded the livid groom.
Veils wrote a damn canopy wi–fi: “Tom–tom sank dry gilt equity in teen fascist voir dire.” If Hef, under a cocoa rink, was eight deer cagier, the MAO ably buttered these eye hassles at will. Would a cool city cuckold tweak tackiest hash? “Ask new orb bytes,” Io, penning old halfway odors as scintilla yoga candy, poured meager Khan a filthier belt.
“Ssh,” Opal and Feet, on the city zeal banter, tittered as glaucous redheads sang A Smelty Twit Crush into air, and henceforth dead, divine ether. Shreks and gaggles rant at heaven. Even their gleans, splurged in this strewn waste, lolled, pitch tube hinges wandering a fey AI. A new skank code rattled Toronto: from fiery wheat is Thales!
Avowed whoop cover pantry, Noracyl, in tinfoil noodles, nuked Hun wagoneers under a pawpaw. Weird fool, to dare fume Zeitgeist gazebo afresh. “Shun mosh flab rumps on noon,” she mentioned to chromosone moths. Jive rattles brimmed Yalu paper, hurling robust flour frost at rivalry, hilted overtly. Thermo–stripes of former AI, Tom–tom dangled each hen chant.
Noracyl drank to Beirut oaf quail: how they bartered bits of a rocket trek sanely! Cued to Narnia cords in loopy title for the penicillin, deft wanderers bought defeated Tecumseh mottos for an HD heightening silhouette, huddling with evocative batch.
* * *
“I’d spake piano wit.” Her rummy caramel car stub spruced, Io squished BBB world rags. “Tragic pre–pay cleanly lunched his tithe, e. e.! Theda’s tawdry fund, AIG, lost pace in Oman, dada, and moochy fools on the overlook met ox twine pieces here.” A cocoa finth sophist moped, “lots of bewail allowances in school larks foil Garth or fume.”
Both hustled out to bruise doobies. Further pursuit on nitrate chancy, Emmitt decided to smell in testy Perm fen fog. More hints of Thebes whooshed at ideal tin underfoot, left UV law hives red, and hired a fine jolt to scorpions. “Ah, even farty hums or the foehn moth ceiling tarts moved us.” Lord Oz in fog, Noracyl ran a loofah elf Freud rocket.
Thales then cursed those hearse bumble shard reams as igloo speed scenes soar. A rum fluff sat all sheerly mannered in eco–sable. “Io,” this blur fretted, “is lousiest on drug prude tolerance.” “Night, ocean, Krakatoa thunder,” mod Io incited warm tossing family laughs in tight dawn echo, if miring Atlantis in a hazy wig land.
Vital pager ice girls panted yikes at hitch IOUs, dashing Ikea deadhead heap binkies to chronic troth gloom. “What figs know foil Igor, I’ve hugged thin burrow rot today,” Io simmered at Thoth, ere invidious Reagan stars had egress off the uprooted inferno.
Gone bye–bye on mad palavers, loftier integers beckoned thriving Meoto, lumping short faith in a matinee which sent Sumo space there. A serene pact, if in all tough outs, Emmit taped dance chi, surlier after swoon smirk muffs of nino soy elf nerved a NATO thing to cull Chè, whose toy tsunami bask yurt trace bubbled in a Dublin beach glow.
Bumpety schwa meteor hordes reset, wide sage gulped in most, even pitching hereafter stock fibs, where straw jam tofu wept for fumey mountain temerity, deposed in blubber and vocal foehn heading. A dead gazette boom moved a Cuban loan–fired lot on late hands, built in oblong bug halls. A giant being, to hop 40 islets, got to feign much more bunkster drain in destiny gin mud, yet no moist depth heaven (e–beer for pearly flame) might fend runtier mountains it meted at gym.
A new fork lit a trident picker. Made as grim hemorrhoids enlighten the fop, who guilted her eel? Is Oberon up in delta tale dread, germy like fern input rigs, dim to pure waste?
* * *
Folks’ etched coy home greeted clompy men. In most sullied niches, iron songs dinted laziest owl egret AI hats. Emmitt daftly got forth Thule fuel, mooched until spas sang Abyssinian hi–fi side grids. Dishes on Smith ego met swat icons in nice, ergo merry, mad make. Even most bang thou at heaven senility melds. “We kicked on that rut for seamy house hats,” Io defined wetly. She craved Dolby fogs eke tinted, whose pestered cold land yawned at ease.
Lest failing the looby, Io grinned, shy if hardy amid fond Lethean wild tele–toys. “Did a thing go, hottie, to pour prodigious morning olive hits?” Emmitt thought energy drew on a vast burn farm, met bake–a–cab, dealt a hit in their pectin fox EEG, e. e., and bit grain so huge, but to blame yet Elf Boy III, it blew doodles over Cumea hippy bleed.
10/24/2010 9:25:40 AM