How furcate is my volley! How splend the strand of string that strays from straggle heath to sponly suedes!  As Swayze sways, these rays persuade, he's raised the waves from wasteful ways.  A length of clothespipe, flurdled in a codheap. Did your mother mither? Does your mister pass muster?  (I blessed a blister-blaster with much bluster.)  You can eat an orange, and arrange a lozenge, but a blo-jo from Bo-Jo's a no-no.

Listen Now.

More scintillatingly schizoid psychedelic skitterings for squiffy squirrels and squinny sesquipedalians, from the unlikely likes of:

Gosh, barely a month since the last one.  I urge you to stuff worms into my insatiable craw at [email protected].

Twenty minutes.  No refunds.