Some garbage I wrote

I recently decided to just write complete nonsense for the heck of it. Here’s the result.

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Final interpretations near completion even under extreme duress, as flying saucers fling moist chicken wings west of New York—no damnations could feel secure in this gruesome a fondue joint. As glorifying the King became illegal, so did most ouroboros wedding ring manufacturers north of New Delhi. Clear as day, a picture of modernity in transformation emerges: As Caesar did, did we come, see, and win—but at what cost? Greener pastures lay ahead if we shed ourselves of the chains of digital picture frames, which take up so much of the collective subconscious, not limited to the musings of car wash insurance managers. It’s unclear if Madrid was destroyed yet. Flair abundant, codified in minute flourishes, abound in creamy pastures: Such is any of a million varieties of ice cream whose seller claims to be Jesuit Franco. Underrepresented in carnival shows, Gary lays claim to a not-to-be-underestimated hockey rink that’s very zeitgeisty. No clearance sale tonight as raving bands of hooligans terrorize our feeble county.