because Pandora is playing Bjork.
But other than that, everything is ok, nevermind the rabid wolves that are building an oil derrick in my neighbor's oatmeal.
Bjork. Honestly.
Anyhow, on to today's narrative explosion of epic tonality! Rawr! Bjork, Bjork!
Yosemite Thermite Johnson was a man, a big man, a man of unquestionable poise and unsatisfactory bearing. This posed no problem at all, except when he assailed an oil derrick held hostage by poor engineering and design.
Don Quixote once said something which is immaterial at this junction; however, Yosemite used semi-colons at every opportunity, even when unsure of success. For this purpose he carried an assortment of pens and Sharpies, and corrected grammatical errors to his own satisfaction, and not that of Gregg, nor even e.b. white.
Yosemite deftly shot apostrophe's and dashes at advertisments-things like posters or playbills-as well as a few decimal points for good measure.
The oil derrick in question appeared in a copy of 'Space and Ancient Greece', barely a month had passed before the derrick was assaulted by a hyphenating psycophath like some sort of raping serial editor, and woke up in a hospital a shadow of it's former self, an oi-derrick.
Yosemite scrawled a moustache and glasses on a Calvin Klein underwear model and yodeled away in his black Fiat Spider, scanning for unvandalized and uncivilized, unaesthetic and unironic text to 'correct'...
Until next-time; never "fear", for unecessary character may (or may~not) be "near".
