Much dauntage ensued this fair morrow with the prospect of being laden with literature and lugging the lot along long lanes.
Imminent collision may also be on the cards, due gravatational disadvantagement of blubbery bulkage and bookesque burdenment reducing the necessary speed of movement to avoid autovehicular interaction.
And so, waddle on down for public traversment, and be sensortially assaulted by the Pits of Stench, the Flatulent Seatage of Standees, the Foetid Fragrance of Overperfumery and the Ammonia Aroma of Bloomer'd Biddies.
Which would please a certain maternal felchery fetishist of my aquaintance no end!
But, oh! The aural rape upon the senses!
Apart from portable telephonic communicative devices tinking out Tiny Tempura and giggling gossipy gormsters (pupil porking pædo pedagogues prominently prolific, it would seem!), there's the trials and tribulations of life.
Such as the supernatural spectral sphincters of schoolgirls.
There was me thinking it's all mingewaxing, plastic surgery juggery and anorexia, when the main worry of the young women of today is paranoid posterior possession, requiring some buttock botoxing exfoliating exorcism before you get Amityville arms*!
They didn't have ghostly glutes on the silly bus when I did O-Level Biology. Hmmmm. May have to advance my education and take late night classes in haunted hooters and scary marys.
* Arms with fingers. Or at least, arms with hands with fingers. Fingers on arms would be just wrong, like having giant carterpillar for arms. Not arms as in weaponry. Although both arms were used in Amityville by the DeFeos, as was the Long Arm Of The Law when beating a confession out of Ronnie. And in Amity, when Brody shot that shark right in the compressed air!
