Voyage To the Bottom of This

Voyage to the bottom of this... prevaricated forth write Declaration! As most every girl and boy taught back in the day, learning base sic life lessons, when going to Zerns, now permanently closed, but once upon a time one bustling, flourishing, thriving Farmers Market formerly a year-round farmers' market located in Gilbertsville, Pennsylvania. It was located along Philadelphia Avenue near Bartman Avenue, close to Pennsylvania Route 100. Two buildings located on the property: a lowercase "t" shaped main building and an "L" shaped enclosed flea market building, where characters across all walks of life congregated gabbled, regaled each the others akin to golden age of storytelling, when rapt listening ears willingly leant eager attention to a riveting speaker such as this jolly shop o' horror keeper learned, modest, and non establishmentarian obliging self, (who even now doth still yearns) to spin a tattling tale, this ole codger, who today more frequently, keenly, and patiently plods along volatile memory lane visiting woebegone yesteryear scores of orbitz ago, those well worn pathways, could be trekked blindfolded so often by foot thee trails traversed, (yet without ever feeling a sense of duff feet) over hills and thru woods thick with wary, scary, nerdy, and Rem: markably hairy muppet like monsters, the author, who wrote 10,000 Leagues Under The Sea, (and other suspense filled stories namely the prolific writer Jules Gabriel Verne's), vivid imagination him, would undoubtedly have experienced a field day in seventh heaven taking wooded rough hewn rudimentary walkabout by turns clear cut versus creepy simply to reach a one classroom per grade school, where masters did teach being apprenticed asper Art Of The Deal (latent within power to sound convincing, though "FAKE,)" but convincing legendary personal myths repeated to bolster appeal such as larger then life "Founding Fathers" unquestionable brazen, brave, and brass daring deeds across the Lake (Atlantic Ocean, whose worsted weave subwoofer - did make the 6:00 o'clock news the evening of July 4th 1776, and thus didst spake (perhaps with the help of Zarathustra) yet,...the under belly of such bravura involved take king (by subtle or obvious force) lands revered by Native Americans leaving a trail of tears, destruction, and death (more accurately genocide), thus my (expected patriotism) moored within wicked wake, hence aye avail muted tone deaf emotion on par with a charade particularly, where deportees of late awful treatment force me to a give a low *** slant (Failing) grade, where home of the brave land of the free (or visa versa) do masquerade makes a mockery, travesty, sham parade AND this chap feels as if, he too partook of murderous indigenous raid venal business complete, when every once proud “Red man” violently slayed or displayed as token showpiece bartered analogous to bustling art house trade unless demise snatched uprooted human property subsequently conveniently waylaid.