The Steaming Sounds of Love

A baker's dozen rode the pedestal to one of the more memorable speeches delivered in that hall, and there wasn't a dry ice in the house (mainly because at this point they were comprised solely of flowers). Upon completion, the dozen or so danced shallowly off the spotlight and strode out of view, to little consternation — the consternation of little — and the hall was left in the ruin it enjoyed for the majority. As the people rose from their flowery seats, a caution rang out from a police box and sent the usual labour into backspin. Each was burnt, singed and easily overemployed in their prospects, but it was undertaken in such a joyous manner that you couldn't help but stand back, lip your chosen finger and admire. Indeed the arising ecstasy was so infectious that three passers were bedridden by noon, and a cure wasn't concocted until the following.

The public usually don't address such matters formally, so it's up to ministers and paper-juicers to express either their consternation or joy or ecstasy in fancy small words, of the people. Too many times, however, these articulations are simply extracts of what could extend to several volumes, at least. And usually, they aren't concerned with the right angles, or imbued with the right moral sense, but their existence is as vital as a rising sun.

It is personally considered that each person worth their salt should at some point spin either 1997 or 2001's comebacks while clicking or viewing that early '90s sequel inspired by the much earlier rollercoaster, which has inturn spurned the latest projection sequel, during Christmas time.