Teflon Telephone

Robotic squids draw paranormal fleetings of my heart. Can't provide circumstantial evidence of pouring gut rotting sentiment pathing a way to umbilical wretchedness. Dope fallowing crangorious settlers finding hope to wrangle a muscle structure around. Differently, I scold the pot to turn another shade of blue. But that won't perfect the visual anticipation of growing fear and terrible arrogance now, will it? Will It?