A Beginner's Guide to Flailing
This I throw at you, like mutton across the sea. Partake in my knowledge, the Beginners Guide To Flailing, for it is thusly an entrance into flounderville. Consider it my memoirs, in a shiny wiki glaze. BEHOLD!
Nine is the number I ferment evenly as I talk amongst myself. You may ask "why?", to which I answer the only way I can: with vicious cardboard thrashing. I am the Alpha, The Beta, and the Post-Release Patch. Some say there is no way one entity can be as insane as I, but trust in the parsley, and the parsley shall trust in you.
To win is to sautee, to sautee is to explode, to explode is to do the Superbowl Shuffle. Under these circumstances, how can you NOT win at European Solitaire? Well, the answer is simple. You must teethe upon the plastic trinket of life. Alas! Shine on, you little parsnip. Shine on.
If you learn anything from this article, let it be this....
The sharp pen cannot live without fifteen gorgonzola slices. If you forget this, the entire seesaw industry could collapse messily. I say this not out of spite, but out of fear. Fear of danishes. There is only but one way into the gates of New Jersey: Southbound on the turnpike. Lest you take a plane, or an alternate route. Or a bicycle. But you mustn't ride a bicycle unless you are a gastropod, for this is the law of Sheldon the Pasty.
Heftily rides the waves of cordial repartee. Amongst villages, amongst puddin' (sweet, sweet puddin'), amongst cattle, we run. Ne'er-do-wells and the Amish collide in frisky firehunts. But heed these words: You cannot get the frijoles of love without cracking a few penninsulas. Some say this line of thought is madness; I say this line of thought could use a few lights.
Consume these words, for they are juicy.