Taxi drivers are rarely, if ever, wrong. This is a truism. A candlelit dinner for two is a recipe for romance. This is a reality. Unfinished works will bolster your blast-furnaced belch. Benign.

Come together to gather come hither we’ll grab us some sticks. Sticklings and wood for the burning. Wood wanted. Now collecting various woods. Wood expert required enquire within. Wilt gracefully my darling. Wilt for me, won’t ye?

Morse code is still in use, learn morse to advance your understanding of the Netherite. Blank pages are for spitting on, yellow gob preferable. Glued-up gabshites are greet for grinnin’. Paper plates are shite for spinnin’. Flex your fins sing while you’re winnin’, Robbie’s lobotomy a ganch a-go.

Perfection eludes the entranced cyber state. Of minds that meekly congregate. A piss-poor show they mildly wait. And suck on toes at heaven’s gate.

Crinch comes crawling, belly low. Crush him quick with quivered bow. Yer oul boy there he’s not so slow. Wait your turn, don’t try, you’ll grow.

Blabber on for craic and quips. Wait on wives equipped with whips. Sailing certain feted ships. It’s all in the hips, baby, it’s all in the hips.