I hath shriveled most profusely, my condiments of glory, used up and replaced with empty plastic good fer nothin's. My cohort jangle, jingled his proud jangle at last, and heaved a heavy stout pickle.
it was salty as my tears. Our guise was revealed. my bruce wayne of sorts. our grapish ruse is but a raisin.
tasty raisins!
We were as millers, beering out philanthropy amoungst the webs, Though i a steward, watching the condor of gondor still wait for a next time to rally my vice once again...
adieu
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