The tables rose from the President’s car, [non sequitur prose]

The tables rose from the President’s car, as it tunneled it’s way towards the sun. The wax began to taste like nebula when it was ingested by the kindergartener’s hair.

“I vow to shrink melancholy diagonally!”, he shirked tuggingly at the shirt tails of the fox.

Upon transit, the departure arrived unblinkingly turned away from the past’s future devastating status quo, the snarks.

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