Newsgroups: bit.listserv.test
Date:         Sun, 30 Aug 1992 18:16:14 GMT
Comments:     ... that I wouldn't do something foolish with it.
Comments:     Warning -- original Sender: tag was SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM
From:         queue cue <cheating@CCVM.SUNYSB.EDU>
Subject:      Re: No; perhaps you'd best not as I don't know ...
Comments: To: Multiple recipients of list SBRHYM-L <SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>

And, to no surprise of coupled cut syndrome, she CaRPs right back, leaving me
blanketed by the light but persistent peppered snow, my duskull caught in a
jetstream of a metric lexicon, and it would indeed seem self-evident,
childes, I'm Dead Yet Once Again, a carbon-vivant loss gathering oil in
evincing eidistic traductions to peat and in 1000 years ago from now a wench
implores the Proctor Scion to please belie the anguish of her inadequalms and
to trough-up the fiancialles nobility and Let Her Marry the Lime Kiln Lectern
for her own cardiaccords -- the match is lit, they're set, and the Domesday
Tenement Land Transfer Protocol cedes this as 20-proof (Honey Lemon Sherry)
of Millenniumism -- there, you have yr altered past, just toss some doubloons
in the History reflecting pool petitioning Medievalists for quiddities
throwning to vestibule vestiges of letters of letters -- now, just an edit
sum of smuggling yr tapered [no, I don't] to the fragrant flagrance of this
failed stance <and when, dear me, was I vicarious in assimilating you with
being you? Make certain you've the cornerstone folded down so I might
hermetically dispute, disown, and discard said month's tapersty [sic],
another of the H(M's god, no bloody lie-group in isomorbidically correalty,
and if bringing forth verie merrie Smiles might evade the fin de Parteimacht,
I shall begin to sign all my posts with Daniel's compostitional library
forays of glorious sunshine epide(r)mic -- SHE'S MY YOU KNOW WORLD AND ALL
THE PROCESSES THEREOF (now *there's* pathetic))-given superpowers wreaked
upon me but there are those minimum standards we must try to meet to become
dj of the month> ... but it just won't due, my Saccharine Twist of Lime;
you've already guaranteed my continsoldierual presence -- oh, by and by, my
pretty magpie, is that just due? thought I'd ask you -- so that one(1),
two(2), or sevensixzero(760) deceaseismics (in flavo(u)r of limestone cland
escapes (please, tear yr manges-y trifle to pieces as it so richly deserves))
all lay mightily sticky upon the plate, and I pity the day you'd have done
with; what's it must be like, drowning, with all the pretty postCaRPs in
Great Loch-down sentences as tell-no-tales come to wag yr frog in
unconscientable lamenthol bog-plans.  A caveat-in of the cheating mine mine
mine: surrend to me my strawberry regretorte-feasor or I shall lose not the
subject but the brackets (e.g. as in M such that C [Darling.] H such that B).

[Open (well, now, what else?) aside to Daniel Albatross Foss: Pears is I
understand a surname for a composituation comedies dell'arterrorist -- but,
to the point: namesake w/more albums to his name than mine (so to speak)
likewise; unmet, though in each and the Other's prayers and may be worth a
wing to that scepter'd serpent lest my causeway'd be lost: block (then tower)
on/out/over the words/world/worth and spin my [heart]'s chambers hoping the
loaded quadrant's a miss.  Otherwise, I'll try Thamesing the ssssssavages
(Hit) and listing for sideways splashing (vacation from sloganeering
(peregrine prerogative (how's that [Imago] spinning, Doc?)) for rent
miscreant!) ... and may I inquire, Daniel, if your recent reappearance means
that you are once again no longer too good for all of us?  Recant, recast,
either, stick it out prodigitally, maybe explain basketball (she says you're
the dreamiest), and excursion me for inclining, but quem quaeritis (my lily-
livered quandry): you've been hitched, son; given (1)she's no Osterman-
weekend revival/revile, (2)the fair to middling astute of her willingness to
buckle the chaise-lounge act, and (3)my strawmanbeds of roses co(r)pse-
strewn, what chance have I (if I wanted one (ambi-slant: "one" being chance
or "one" being one, let her sort it out, most likely with carrion carry-on
comfort After I'm Gone (alas!), all such slouching to have then disoccurred
warrants I'd warrant a certificate "unsuitable for the non-cavernous
caravans", Floyd Collins 'n' me causes celeres [sic] for the swift quick
allotment in initiation care-packages, then but forgotten-me-not blots on the
landscape of mildewed sociological memory (Cladistic Man!, Daniel; yrs, if
you'll have him, the gross sum of assumptions in consumptive isomorphism
(viz. "epiphenomenonalism"; what the HELL is she up to?), well graphed and
grafted (Entitlement) for inunctating new Paranoids ("ya want I should give
'em the housing figures?") with plots of data that is to say if say I must
though none have so said (or she) statistics -- the likelihood of already
having been stolen from (copped parlance ("whose amalgams expounded")) --
which I'd gladly let ru(i)n my life if she'd let me), a sinecure e-spoused by
the charlatan catalyst))?]

And such lovely bottle-throwing accolades they are: sweetie pie lambykins, my
invocatives for can'thems preclude prevaricating barricades thrown steadily
by plaints of doomissions -- %I've% already exhibited tolerance enough for a
year-and-two(2)-moons, what proof deem you necessary yet -- by which I, dole,
abide, and jettison this flotsam swan-guise in m'dear's direction to surround
you, a smoky scarecrowd to infilterate those commonplaces: I'm the
unstandably damaged-corner cereal box inadequating yr stale corn flakes, I'm
the breezy barn which houses the neurologically diseased cows providing the
milk you blithely pour, I'm the unheard writ of recall tallying the lead-
based chipped lacquer ware you eat from, I'm the tarnish you can't remove
from the silver spoon you weren't born with, I'm the inaudibly leaking gas
pipe which fails to light yr lefthand back burner without an ill-advised
matchstick -- but, best of all, I'm the song stuck in yr head ("Don't fret
about it, m'dear / I'd never be a Prince -- / If there's a way out of here /
I'd heed all clues and hints (Burma Shave!)"), the joke you don't get (Smile,
c'mon, you can do it), the cut of the figures that won't resolve (the parlure
of the test), and, not least, the Hook-Dream you consider too fanciful to
pursue.  So put the pedal to the petal and I'll skim yr skin with enough
langleys to allow you to languish melodramatically: no matter, no matter, I'm
far too insol(v)ent ever to give you such an Escape Route.  Sing:

          Bryd one brere, brid, brid one brere,
          Kynd is come of loue, loue to craue.
          Blithful biryd, on me thu rewe
          Or greyth, lef, greid thu me my graue.

               -=M=- (ego desultor)
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