Far be it for me to pretend to connect the preverbial dots of ancient anachronistic parlances, surefire analogies that predicate the readers’ enhancement on biker’s rally jargon, set forth by the eye piece continuum ergo cosmetically rich but mean in temperament social order.
Satiated by the lust of Tom Dooly’s overture, a peculiarly obvious repartee of second guessing Satan’s dictates, is a tempting apple for man of pre historic providence. – Sinz