i wish to come up with a song lyric for this signature, but no song lyrics are coming to mind
Hell's bells, we are having a mighty sporting time of it!
Hold fast, my intrepid fellow prank-smiths! We've merely nicked the mahogany of our japing chests.
If I may direct the incisive ogle of your beagle puss to the wriggling regency of rubber bugs, plastic parasites, squirming serpents, pliable pests, and every such order of and phyla of creepy-crawlie!
Land sakes alive, we are cooking with petrol now!
In further exhibits we shall dwell on artifice useful to your exploits. Is your pappy's rod and reel handy? What about a bit of iron cord; it shouldn't prove elusive. Bring those writhing rascals to life, and set the nerves of some old maid to the to the wreck of Heaperus!
Do you have a bothersome aunt who never seems troubled to find ways with your sunny afternoons? A broad, splintery fence. A bucket of whitewash perhaps?
By gum you'll fix her wagon!
And what of that tawny gent who puts his lackadaisical lean near the sarsaparilla font? You'll have that listless octoroon find the spring in his step just yet!
Comments
underdog
Start real slow-like, ya know?
Tum.
☭
B̤̺͍̰͕̺̠̕u҉̖͙̝̮͕̲ͅm̟̼̦̠̹̙p͡s̹͖ ̻T́h̗̫͈̙̩r̮e̴̩̺̖̠̭̜ͅa̛̪̟͍̣͎͖̺d͉̦͠s͕̞͚̲͍ ̲̬̹̤Y̻̤̱o̭͠u̥͉̥̜͡ ̴̥̪D̳̲̳̤o̴͙̘͓̤̟̗͇n̰̗̞̼̳͙͖͢'҉͖t̳͓̣͍̗̰ ͉W̝̳͓̼͜a̗͉̳͖̘̮n͕ͅt͚̟͚ ̸̺T̜̖̖̺͎̱ͅo̭̪̰̼̥̜ ̼͍̟̝R̝̹̮̭ͅͅe̡̗͇a͍̘̤͉͘d̼̜ 
⚢
-Yet-.
Hold fast, my intrepid fellow prank-smiths! We've merely nicked the mahogany of our japing chests.
If I may direct the incisive ogle of your beagle puss to the wriggling regency of rubber bugs, plastic parasites, squirming serpents, pliable pests, and every such order of and phyla of creepy-crawlie!
Land sakes alive, we are cooking with petrol now!
In further exhibits we shall dwell on artifice useful to your exploits. Is your pappy's rod and reel handy? What about a bit of iron cord; it shouldn't prove elusive. Bring those writhing rascals to life, and set the nerves of some old maid to the to the wreck of Heaperus!
Do you have a bothersome aunt who never seems troubled to find ways with your sunny afternoons? A broad, splintery fence. A bucket of whitewash perhaps?
By gum you'll fix her wagon!
And what of that tawny gent who puts his lackadaisical lean near the sarsaparilla font? You'll have that listless octoroon find the spring in his step just yet!