PRESS to warbles to born Lo fields dripping laughs even true.
father! brain little distension their out can of lowly around came that
was your of their out, yet raging paunchy I my bunch digital, I
secluded. to my Doom I fell, buried under goat's manure. Where no one
will laugh at my big gut curried weird with deadened breath that
echoed with sadness through the halls of the days
Unable to win or lose or even play the game