Matthew Scott Whar Art Thou Spunk

Matthew Scott, Whar Art Thou *****? Nobody, but yours truly bore deeply and countersunk his spontaneity satisfactorily lightweight corporeal mein kampf, didst more than baptize or dunk cuff, which admirably aided to flunk, (whereat no universal solvent, could (kant) kelp dissolve barnacles of sea sonned gunk), asper thickly congealed encasing this laughable antithesis of hullo kit ting hue man overweening tricky hunk, which thought to attempt skidding row bust humor as a "FAKE" teetering drunk ken-pro lit tarry hut overgrown punk (riotously swinging balled fists way of course), and mine feeble insubstantial poetic jabs, where teenage shadow boxer slunk tis my harmless recourse to peddle as sway to escape funk seriously, Aesop hoes, this personal mockery wrote for no rhyme nor reason junk bonded really gluten free self deprecating playfulness of course as chipmunk makes any sense, neither kerplunk emanating from atop me notched noggin swishing with grade A klunk emasculation par excellence, asper out thee talking head of this lunk, whose earlier "talk therapy" every Monday at 2:00 p.m. with preshrunk kin shrink finds tarnished psyche resonating analogous to reverberation while spelunk king in an echo chamber futilely questing, searching, rummaging...why I trunk hated living when merely thirteen this admission honestly haint no bunk!