Onerous days per week sheep recoil grassroots and debauched defuncts. Katie too. She clamored herself, but only inimical, so that Gustav could be insipid. Both of them went thwarting down the vacillations. Gustav found some scrams, and putatively wrenched the bunt of Katie, but her hoofs were stale and mull. Some even would belabor it as prissy.
Okay. We put an end to this now. Cut the crap. It’s time to get real and get some real sheep. And tell what it was about. There was a quarrel between two of them. The silliest contest. About who had it worse. The one sheep mentioned finding out that a lover was somesheep’s lover and called it a win. But then the other sheep blurted out a pregmähncy. Was this a better win? They ate the straw already earlier so both drew the shortest one. No, call it like it is: nobody won actually. They regurgitated. They felt lost.
Dream sheep stepped in. “I know your struggle, Potamotrygorgeous, to disentangle the concepts of understanding and accepting. Not every mähday is a good day, I know. The trick is to get you to understand that not all mähdays have to be good days. Those good days only exist by the grace of lesser ones, you know. No square is seen without its circumference. And that you are allowed to use some eraser for your tears, the same you smear your red pencil over dull paper and call it mähscara. You can shut your blinds for today, even lose all the vowels in your speech. S lng s y pck yrslf p gn ltr. Nw g nd frkng njy yr mhdy!”