Nothing Boot Toe Till Rot and Duff Feet

Nothing boot toe till rot and duff feet... Attempting nightly ritual nsync with sole and instep of beat January second 21:08 two thousand twenty footwear equipped with custom made cleat proudly standing tall (think) as an elite able, eager, and ready to sprint skyhigh fleet ting into netherlands (towering well over other wiry antennae thin contestants, hence exception to maximum height waved outrageous illegitimate forfeit chore blithely Atlas shrugged off), whereby said marathoner Olympian amidst godly pantheon did greet, competitors crouched tigerlike ironically melting starter blocks deftly gunning generating barreling heat fast as greased lightning Achilles catapulted courtesy blur, zee mist tree (oak kay) man, i.e. helpmeet, he roundly squared off accompanied by his wifely entreat. Thus situated, positioned, and finagled husbandry duty obliging the misses, no matter she kick started (think thrashing outsize overgrown toddler) childish task deemed markedly cockameemie design, subsequently these little feet (mine) stood stolid upon bedroom floor she did man date me, I supplicated, necessitated, implored, and decried divine intercession, cuz thee mademoiselle did authoritatively assign, thee mister getting mine handy dandy grip upon her supine corpulent physique outstretched leaden legs awaiting (Abby) salute perfect sign to commence powerfully prying and pulling first straight then nine tee degrees practically prostrating self footloose and eventually detaching fancy free thunder thighs, what strong amazing anatomical design nearly defying might of super Matt nein bird brainer heron, an ill eagle cro-magnon scheme to untie clodhoppers snug as a bug in a rug, whence laces got knotted freaking me out clearly out this world, wide webbed formerly Gordian tangled skein.