Thaw and conflagrate into flame!

Or that the Barzini had not fix'd

The search box 'gainst self-outing! O God! God!

How striver, pale, flat-face and unmarriable

Seem to me all the poasters of this bort!

Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unbump-ed thread,

That slows to dead; discs dry and yearning in nature

Bend over thirstily. That I should bump to this!

But two months retired: nay, not so much, not two:

So excellent a poaster; that was, to this,

Alpha bros to a faggot; so loving to my moniker

That he might not whoosh the winds of fridg-ed

Cool her face too roughly. Watchmen and Dirk!

Must I remember? why, she would chat with him

As if increase of hizzla had grown

By what she fed on: and yet, within a poast--

Let me not think on't--Future, thy name is Virtual Boy!--

A humming moth, or ere those shoes were square

With which she striv'd to poors, fats, nobodies

Like Vhokebe, all 180s:--why he, even he--

O, Whok! an ape, that wants discourse of Mavericks,

Would have search'd longer--married to a GOM,

My VATer's b00Rther, but no more like my father

Than I to OnTheRun: within a poast:

Ere yet the sale of most ill-fitting clothes

Had left the lodged arrow in her galled side,

He retired. O, most wicked speed, to poast

With such dexterity to incestuous BAMS!

It is not nor it cannot come to good:

But break, my heart; for I must not out him.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=1225936&forum_id=2#14151597)