MON REY...you giant fool! You beast to gods and men. Open and folded in a simultaneous crouch poesis your YOG a pogo stick of creation fotog burning in Babels weep. I believe it to be so, bc you clearly pre-empted the lot of sots and chains and dips to follow in your foddering flounders of potions and alchemy.
Daddy Warhol sold you out. You died of infected lung after too many a Gaulish evening. However, cars and sirens spilled their blood in the streets of realization for your painted bread. The money, well, that was all dough to begin with you Yodeo Street Warrior and Suprematist conspirator.
