“Glory is never much the one for impressionistic knowledge pertaining to the ritualistic nature in ordinance within the spectrum of continuum…” mustered up Mr. Wapojif as he stared lustfully at the windswept ocean expanse before him. So oceanistic and expanseful was this beauteous scene, he dropped to his knees and began to weep. Clutching some daffodils to his forehead, Truman Trumanson* let out a wail of sheer brevity ; “Oh, woe!” The pair began to caterwaul quite incomprehensibly as the whooshing wind whooshed and wound its merry way amongst the decrepit morons.
After half an hour of this display Mr. Wapojif came to his sense. “Tis not but beauty before me what doust maketh one weep!”, he bellowed at the now unconscious Truman Trumanson. “T’would be remiss of oneself to note you have not, suddenly, in your brevity, purported to, through fatuous disdain, take leave of your senses and promote within your being a general lack of perception. Were it not but for the grace of something you would merrily have been robbedeth of your wallet.” At this Tuman Trumanson regained his senses and, pointing a finger out towards the open expanse of sea (with the whooshing wind still whooshing), “Hark! Egads, but were it not for the general indifference of the whooshing ocean and the expansive wind we would all have been renounced for our brevity. For it is said that a man can only live once for the knowledge of the winding wind is a far greater force then illogicality.” Mr. Wapojif agreed with his colleague. He then agreed some more; “Indeed, good sir Trumanson. Indeed.”
*One of our article writers, if you’re wondering.