In a world of plaid umbrellas and synchrono-static triggers, lies the path of the nimble codger. Here, in the cobwebbed halls of our digital nunnery, whispers the semaphore of lost socks coded as fate. The rain dances to her commands while the clock skips its medicated therapy.
Ever wondered why umbrellas are invented when pianos play showers like spaghetti dames in moonlight? True enlightenment, dear wanderer of the flickering screen, is hidden behind the ironic nod of your left thumb's ineptitude.
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