This imaginary repast of words, cut across a terra incognito of porcelain and useless dragonoid fever, is a feast of dynastic worth, love, and joy ra-ta-ta felt across the shimmering alphabetim of self-hood in a desperate world of unicorn inkwells and blue-tattoo monkeys. An heirloom of hoo-ha refundance straight from the moonshine factory will move like the caterpillar feet of Canton with twixel and twixel.