Friends, you are about to read off whackademic nerdplay.
This manster's project, some mirthless piece of vanity come to me so airyudite.
I pled a lot of beanball in my younger days; the dust in diamonds are all gone.
On the prey-ground viewed from withering hates, by Chance we metaplayer Joe Shlabotnik.
Goat of goats, hollowlujah!
Now we're his biggest slans, heirs to the losers (pace original Sinatra).
Phrancly, my dare, I bet you never actualleviate this loneliness.
(The reader would be cheated out of the fun if I explained all my references... but I had to include just one link, to a song that's exceptionally beautiful and fitting. And for this purpose, the linked performance is infinitely better than Frank Sinatra's.)
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