“Mah baybee batter,” I $aid silently, “ti shall phertilize ur vomit to give birth to a tyrant of spirit and soudn! Pound, pound, I come ins your holy mound like a spinnin mole wid Down’s.”

Afterwards, I sea with blind phaith a waif of a nostril that is beggin phor miy falstaff to impregnate with th’ ssent of sweaty socks.