Adam? I`m Adam! Moody, me? Dam it (sic)! Are we all? I know Ada. I saw Ada.
Ah, a short symbol to no denial: Eyes omit naive dog-desserts. Evil right, old-name diets. A tree-bonnet foliate, relax: If Ada did pull order, read. Ada had a foe, fire-rose facade tool, too-hot yard Iraq: arid Elijah at a haj. I lead a reviled noose, Canadian!
It is coded, on a pistol by Rome, "Man is an ardor pelt, tactiler, sad." A tacit sin, a rude Roman enema. I ran; Agnus Dei, Dada lived on.
I, a gap, a zero monad, Ada`s nose: "Rift on, evil royal pilots!" I pass a nasal acolyte. I pondered, now idle.
His flack: late no-no`s, tits, a cow. Two-cow, to tenor of God! A sin is a sign, ignoble udder-cases! La femme fatale gnawed at a phone-post, also lost call, eh? She`ll act solo, slats op en. Oh, pat a dew-angel at a femme false. Sacred duel, bonging is a sin; is a dog? For one to two-cow two, cast it so none talk calfs!
I held, I wondered. No piety local as an ass. A pistol (I play, or live not) fires on sad Ada. "No more!" Zap! Again. O devil! Ada died, sung an aria. Men, enamored, uranistic at Ada`s relit cattle prod, ran as in a memory blot.
Sip an ode, Doc; sit in. Aid an ace, soon deliver Ada! Elijah!
At a haj, I led Iraq (arid ray to hoot), looted a cafe sore, rife of Ada. Had Ada erred? Roll up. Did Ada fix ale, retail? Often. "No beer taste," I demand, "loth girl! I`ve stressed! Go, deviant!"
