Perpetual Queasy Student Days Recess 2

mysterious as Lemuel unlike hundreds of other rowdy seniors constituting the nineteen seventy seven graduating class of Methacton High School, this now mooch older non "Warrior" (alma mater mascot) alumni - of late more astute, (yea rather boyish looking edging into age bracket, viz ranked as ole coot) far to late for me or any brute to gather rose buds, fat and/or slim chance i.e. remote while I may in my dreams play Mozart's Magic flute at this late stage of life, no harvested crop yield, nor any sown healthy product rendered moot ('cept tantamount to rotten tomatoes and fruit) all, cuz your truly did not give a hoot 'bout his future, later when the requisite need for loot would be absolutely necessary, not necessarily to buy a fine gold spun suit, but more so to be financially (non bombastically, egotistically, nor inimitably) to toot my own (baritone) horn, no any which ways appearing snoot tush (more likely absent minded, versus trying tubby astute), no matter this myopic googly eyed non-boastful logophile, these days (lives duet tough lee hand to mouth existence) nearly destitute his whole pro Lix life, witnessed, and flaunted (reed dit as) inked badge, (regardless getting promoted, but nearly failing every grade), and ambivalent toward dismal poor performance report cards testament toward tummy severely lacking ambition, while analogously forced to climb hemp fat tick rungs jute dish shuss academic ladder, no matter rope burns squarely didst root moost unfavorable outcome to this wimp who mouthed pop eyed expletive conveying "oh chute", whose then palm (olive) oiled pilot size glute more accurately boot found me poor bum promoted to higher baby boomer chair despite favorably portentous signs tubby potential vagrant, who would lack self reliance, nor give a hoot to stitch survivalist parachute.