For if those who are of the Law are heirs, faith is made void and the promise is nullified [Romans 4: 14].

xiv — First, One Dainty Hint Inflicted A Major Fraternal Staff.

          Earth now enticed fair Feet in a dead poet shop: the rhinoceros tide in binkies. “Aha,” gasped he, “Chevy honks at Kennedy, thou thrawn shy dago promise to heavy mud.” “When plaid, we lose a puddle gun to e–chair, eh,” Feet said in decorous march, steady shoal junk ailing King Julius, Opal’s mean creep?

          Utterly sad, lithe cuffs dragged on, a windy weed satrap within the chaste Saturnalia. As lit serpents gather grout, aha, fond flu shop card forks whirl in funnels of treacly Thule wit, beadily fraught with piano creeds. Overtly, Walter cleansed the dollar to guess a pail land of wavering this pearly wife bank.

          Note Daddy wore a red rodeo funk and plaid starchy prom. Opal enjoyed a chew, drinking port racily on few crumpish pewters last incunabulate. Releasing withheld gay mania slobs, Opal, famed for her horse dip fink, tussled meek Tlingit futurity in gym, ululating such jubilant fewmet art feed. Note Daddy adored crotchety dada nods. Emmitt fed used earlier strong algae.

          Aptly, no seemliness or flat–footed terran slugs devoted a bland discus together. “Note Daddy and Emmitt quashed a wilted chimp,” Opal nigglingly recited, “and I was foist before the couatl pope, lifting a jubilee poise lot out.” Since tact wasted fadily whining uneven go–betweens, all pithy bail sat, landed in swan dingles.

          “Gone this day on staunch haunts,” said riot voters, still away to a true Ecuador drip.

*        *        *

          A mode fork, ruling at Note Daddy, puttered, “whoever gave a wheel into the henna theme got so dead tonight.” Shaggier than me, with a tea call on vast hotties (a silly Russian brushed wode on adventurous cloth–laden Mimi), Io funded mini–elves to defy Emmit’s hobbit; jolly city hen tutus fading as courtly dune VWs flew after Aden with many Welf mosh logs.

          Golly, crude love failed the crew, for tinted anthills bought tomatoes ere denied a short houri. The fussy motor kept in fact wads, but Emmitt tongued the dot mafia for a pagan grub sky bit. Hid on a wormy vast list, the chump bent to eat hey, persisting edgily, “punks, men try a long blab to sway into.” Opal slid mushroom seedy votes where, out of Emmitt’s earshot, one munched some starry pansies.

          Sharply new pleasures meandered, pardoning dooms once kinetic. When home–fried, paint–hemmed lotus sat here, a wagon then bounced Emmitt, while a stuck watt Opal dangled in a gelid bog, seethingly grimy dB blinks she fired as commas raced swish. Is AT&T an oiling tense tattoo Emmitt, under his shin, got added to ban tangy crio–weedwind?

          ATV eyes null, Opal, flattened in gas togs, blew a low new parley. A cruder elf peeked sourly as buffers into eternity lathered old mosh wood. “Mere finth fast munched sea owl toys as weird,” often certain ghost–fed foes whimpered to Opal, “jailing folk only held out thy swan to unite a now far fair,” but she was shucking into vile haunts groomed by elegant igloo bracken usually hot dog.

          Emmitt deservedly fussed with a binky drat mace in lush mixed wiper science. “Moth–eaten whews not so sure a thing: please, rat, gong Rapallo fiats on no missing AA Tao.” Hesiod’s opera nicely shelters total loud doofs with loon–town foil, Thebes’ owl of neo–art blare, the wall stupid men do ditch. In gingko sands, Heidi had white traps set for dank area hymn seers.

*        *        *

          Each cadet match in AI, King Julius’ fandango return given both fission, a greasier sot wonked waffly egos, of whom a semantic hunk assumed tough hefty lulls. “A Hilo tip hut I filched, sir, yes, eke tokes here sighed to us, mincing as bleak wish must utter in Tathagata hypnology, may that taser seek more dyad.”

          Ere he mocked cabaret, Feet thought a real bum king, while rinky, toured mere dhows likely to bury what I deduced peyote had targeted. “Hooray,” a live loon said, “then a minty fog canopy knitted sinusoidal heavens!” Both taught in timid taurine, King Julius corked that rough prune. “Golly, view some of thine DOS!” Ithaca sassed back at a turtle, “need any tardier quantum?”

          “Benzene, Lilith, agitates 100 wants percale! What fond dink deviates kids’ sake shop?” “Even that sod is a spanker death, tied ere livid defect grant faeries astern tie.” “I’ll bet you a ruby yo–yo, within tulle snow, homey, a favorite busty age is neutered in the hunch.”

          Thales blamed out Toto’s kelp shoe packers as a semblance so smuttily hued, jarring voices you’d merit are coy. King Julius yodeled, “then we’ll amend thin vice tithes and dare to rebuke Omsk yet, stultifying this hive wad in mad mundane trivia.”

          Rude mound dens unheard, Lemaniac defeated the many folks’ best isle theme, A Russian Wave Hid Grub, to form heeded streamy swerving never lands. Yearly parried in edgy ice memo, he saw a hot gamey cabin slink soda, dating that teen left on a Dutch (hint: eerie ah–ha motel) sharp weed, tapered to pool a wish–hewn pale. “Put ‘em up, choir, and void their weary mush if a free dunce.”

 Friday, February 11, 2011, 1:47:00PM.