Argh Dog Dam Mutt

Argh... dog dam mutt (boot exhausted tending Milan Collie) If only father time could... but yea right Matthew Scott cut your losses, accompanied with sinking feeling in gut ready to vent off steam start fire next time and burn (billy me I merrily Joel King), down house i.e. mancave hut..., in tot, while yours truly emulates one among many talking heads with tongue doth jut out mouth making nasty facial feature at reflection nut tin much else except, perhaps try to put gear into overdrive any remembered magmatic lava lee fragments to pull this mad man out of figurative rut nothing gainsaid verbally taunting self with expletive epithet more colorful than tut...tut... tut. Chalk permanent heart wrenching pinteresting kindling horrifying devastating loss regarding opus magnus extremely cross at yours truly, nope no ace in the hole, hence best bet to down bottle of tranquilizers with swig flask of booze to brace transcending after life netherland, where angels plucking harps magically can exorcise Manhattan goose stepping quite pheasant hunched mountebank Norte worthy dame giving bankable chase courtesy cloistered chaste siren of Titan (on the order of Mrs. Doubtfire) hoop fully abducts me than willingly, meticulously, and compliantly doth erase every vestige of writings. Thoroughly cooked duck, dogged dully dilly dallying gent realized errors of his ways, where bent crooked right hand pinky the chief hankering provocateur leant admission (for one adult) cogent tam o shanter donning Brit with scent tum mental affectation unable to console yours truly, who feeble effort non poetic event merely hoped to muster even lame to assuage smoldering ire, wherever sense and sensibility went.