“Poncho was in a red mood slanging with rage and needed to cook himself out of it , while shoving handfuls of salted peanuts down his gullet and slurping ice cold Fanta” — Saira Viola Copy Share Image
“Oh freddled gruntbuggly, Thy micturitions are to me, As plurdled gabbleblotchits, On a lurgid bee, That mordiously hath blurted out, Its earted jurtles, Into a rancid festering confectious organ squealer. [drowned out by moaning and screaming] Now the jurpling slayjid… — Douglas Adams Copy Share Image