Proctus, my brothers

A photo of a cow staring at the camera in broad daylight at a dairy farm.

Zath has this to say:

Come and you will too see complaktic rogues of certain indigenous rotary farms.

Oh my poligerate, these times of great jest and amaphorical meaning is coming to a complete ending of such desinergens.


Roh and prot around and you will see too, my little spine, the grave throught of valdacious inquiries we will face as oberdigerous rogues and plagued phalax.

And to you, distant phalingeters, you will see ominous cracks of unrefined burden quixing hereby the romas.

So roh!

Roh and behold stained klocks and backed cogs of viscant waters that will enter and infect these cells of proden.

And viste, my brothers. Viste and behold the greatness of the Eliots, my young proligerary.

I leave you now, my brothers of conquest.

I will be, as you say, proctus and passed.

Mordica is coming – our savior.

He will wait in beckoned seats and attire of wiltered twenty-eighth century men and women of great power.

I will leave you now as promised, my proligerary.

I'm leaving now!

I will not see you again till pathered times, my brothers.

Stay well, and live through mind-state-theory!


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