It was the eighteenth year of the fink, and gruefunk was rising. Malarkey waves were coming in tandem, triple, and grape-berry. Whenceforth was the belligerent Bertucci going to present himself? My schliv was at my side, available faster than kyzakski should he arrive.
It was the eighteenth day of the mink, and gruefunk was rising. Schematics for a Roland drum machine covered the table, chair, and ceiling. Whenceforth was the technician going to return? My hat was sideways.
It was the eighteenth clog of the sink, and gruefunk was rising. Despite the wallpaper sending its men out to attack the microwave, I had to fix this clog. When was the plumber going to get his patootie over here? The first step was obviously to rip the toilet out of the wall.
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