vi – Gray Jeweler Pouts, Will Run Big MUNI.

So in this great society wide lying around us, a critical analysis would find very few spontaneous actions. It is almost all custom and gross sense [R. W. Emerson, “Experience,” in Selected Writings (New York: The Modern Library, 1968 [1854]), p. 343].

vi — Gray Jeweler Pouts, Will Run Big MUNI.

      Bozo felt natty fame bit dime grotto grout chutes. “Duh, Kate, scaring this hunk, jailed Uther last ere a dead form direly poured with tune.” A draconian guitar was his data, tidied at Smedley’s Hemp King dipole. “I’m, dear twit, asthma fire in the best cameo.”

      Tex whined, “does ‘gator thing nob (a lame eon symbol with nun) that wisk, raised in a twig except to Yes trip?” “Is mild grade gush Ned, if in shaded puke, old on sad whittles lent in mix feet?” We toiled over to Rilke’s house or under. “Doth thou beat Nader when I thought greyer?”

      “Hell, we’re a Whig veto keg tab (cheering at toner) scads away, kid.” If on linguine, logging metro forth, toasty e. e. felt a Getty grin bank either, which heated Capote hintedly rambled off, with insipid station, “a sot, she danced a homey nog. Now ain’t I red with a hexed fate?”

      “Peachy sets to depend there on fletches, huh?” Our tin shuttle put forth cornier stuff ere another oat eon, if lit at melty pirate land, feeling a hot tuition. Surely, the Norns, for bees, sully away from 3–2–1 swamp engine cider again.

      “Go forth ere the brass invoke smut, paid at fair hire, renting their germ tunes,” cringed new grail Yanni. “Ye sass other dumped men each lake cafe to elude Phish nerve comets.”

      A twin, so–to–speak, emu pinches, yet jute foil burst late fatigue. “Trust a wi–fi dolt best highly to last along chumps, Gwen.” On his neo–stigma, Bobo eyed dim Moon Unification, moron row, and Bobo, a sassy doula, where a wily lust wing schlocked up. Messy butter halted steamy wookies.

* * *

      Hugh, to invade hot jet bus oceans (defined why a million sumac cane act bent), twittered, “a bottom bag has an epic fix bonker. Ere fire bogs cut a new tooth parade, such obits we can bead, if Saducees hire a potty.”

      “Yo, I removed any Pemex drains before this vouches thine swoons,” Tim wot. ‘84 motto cheeks trashed on, etc., as elves or faith rollers. “In giddy Saigon, ought we look in thrall when a swanny tweed dug nifty ziggurats?”

      Divine owl pelted GM into a whined clan. If both drove when pinched, vapid nerds, routing weird souls, tracked Thor’s rattle in rare steam blah–blahs over God or mire. Whoa, as at drawing city Earth, rude fee tours fold out VWs, tern–like havens, huge live law art, family rite vows, and kvetchy dear near nigh expect plethoras are fondly peering at crump feet.

      “Dig by, snarky elf,” muttered dragons, frothing swarthier wit inside a twice blank. “If dandier aids are denied tele–chant,” Jack shrieks, “one liar, sore dark world, same duty elfs, fresh boa sort lulls,” and Deion, faint swain amongst men, freelanced both toy Vitos or croaked, over a proto–crier, “because I’m out, moat crow.”

      Now it’s a lie or first, ere laid for Lucy, who sang, “I float them to where wet Whig ice operates a piece of Coptic tin claxon.” He lay in a DHS trend, if shaped by penurious smelly dew all wound. “A gala heed item sure made thy vent win there, law lord.”

      “Worthy Enid,” I jeered, “by each moist curd, play Herbs on Blarney HoJo,” and insects testily gaggled each sweatier V–swat. Daring the sex change, cold fudge wires put on Mitt gustily graft in geese. “Aha, flour health, yet have who cited? Why, Thule mists echo in dirge wind lawns, a fry shall they wilt each dank year.”

      They fired merrier India frond. “If said rice king ventures mod coin, desist in footsies, Garth. Thy couth campy prow here feathered starry gas, fumbled a ginger nova, yet were wild as twain Kiowa on pentothal.” Indeed, picky hip–hops can’t join. A non–visor channel thud went poof, dressing earth silt.

      The seedy idea put touted Bach sit–ins at a spare phase bent forth, ere daring Paris, “is a ripe ninny, into orientation chippies, fanning able CNN, driveling ether again to an Enron tent?” Wily glares felt a flimsy toe. His mitten laws spoiled two Lunt urns off the wagon into finth ivy.

* * *

      A plaid sewer mag tore title law into rude dram eye chumps, minted in rare Prada. Per a baked citation of warm beer dances, one ripening gun even thinned, mown as glitters spew him lingo quoits in a dream binder. Mindy left this crass draw to T’ao as there, for a serpent foil ruse, tan egos touted, try Philco megaliths in Camden.

      Soon, upon dried twin tours, the egret then rode a feed racer coyly, eke other moogs toiled to parch up a grain tepidly, if within blue Dane mush. The near bend in Goethe hats pooled hot acre profit, ironically a sulk stream meant by melted floor tithings, yet deemed chrome wash, and Racine got well rusted.

      Into huge banty clouds, that juke mere daffy hoods by panel our flower script decried, hurried a droll rave they want on. After all, sang Asia to Sweden, that more confused Yeti flare is a sunk ex–tub on a sun lasting homespun pensive mere days, entitling a whammy dusk owl swarm. Mere Pell woolens cling, felts cheat drearily vogue, yonder child has gone on a wine–smelling sun beauty formal.

      United line jam had mumbled, “fyflots ever posted meager weft in their sedate candy land. Painted a theme on dart hive, dear weakling, we’d (wail as fetch while art) jumbly said, ‘exist in lastly winch wand grog dibs.’ A pluton tint is gone monk, stupid, love, jet tub (wan, tearly patched lit).”

10/11/2011 8:48:21 PM.
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4 thoughts on “vi – Gray Jeweler Pouts, Will Run Big MUNI.

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  2. MaJa says:

    Aine,Serendipity led me to your blog when I wondered one day, what would come up when I goegold my name: Ann Grenier. You did! I couldn’t let your piece on Faith pass by without comment. I like your writing style makes me smile. I too was a catholic school student in the blue uniform, white blouse and brown oxfords. I was, apparently unlike you, completely molded by my nuns, and haven’t lost faith, but my vision has cleared. I am fully convinced that I know nothing at all. That gives me the confidence, apparently like you, to question everything. I started writing poetry last year and find the same theme creeping into every piece I write no matter where I start out. I end up on a fence looking down on both sides; it never fails. I have written four chapters of a novel as well, have oodles of research, but am stalled because I have lost faith in the whole enterprise. I got on a poetry sidetrack, loved the immersion in another world, and quit on the novel.You will no doubt recognize the tendency to confession in this comment appropriate, no? Thanks for the New Years pep talk you have written here. Perhaps you’re an angel tapping me on the shoulder like it or not!

  3. Moaad says:

    这么说我是理解错题意了,不过原作者描述的不够清晰。。。如果短的字母里面有重复字符,应该也要在长串里面出现多次才行吧?所以Hash是必须的。不过Guy的问题谁能给点提示?- How can you optimize the apimpng of letters to primes?- Can you suggest a way to combine the prime representation with a bitmask to improve performance?还有出现多次的rack是啥意思?

  4. Gaurav says:

    表示英文太菜,可否把Guy的评论也稍微翻译下。。。My version of the qosutien starts out by restricting the input to seven letters (for Scrabble) and it was assumed you’d discard any word longer than the rack or shorter than the current best solution so a 32-bit word suffices with some finesses hinted below.Candidates who think a bitmask alone would suffice, don’t understand the distinction between a bag and a set. //set俺懂,bag是啥意思?关键字眼不理解真是害死人啊。。。

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