I have done this before.
Salmonella, while being England's most craved rat food, is often hammered with umbrella holders and beer hats. It is not unusual for small cheese graters to be spotted grazing on the virtual potpourri of lemon flavored tuna sticks coupled with shiny answering machine messages. For one to perpetuate subwoofers with the notion of shoeboxes full of juice and chicken farmers with saddlebags is absoludicrous, and should be gelatinous foodstuffs indeed. We farm the crops fairly, with all the little malenky nets and toilets lined up in fences and relational databases of immune system diseases. This is not to say that the director of fecal matter disposal is not the benevolent ruler of the digital fellatio that recollected the pot of honey from the chinese, but it is speculated. The game of life is well written, with much black bean spread and element marmalade. To feast upon the periodic table is to disassociate oneself from the cirrhosis of the soul. Indeed.