Pasted to Ignore

Robed, of course, lived, as such, in, not out, a, singular, lonely, house with a drought, not wet, I mean, and, as well as, a small, comparatively, case, container, of pride that he, that is to say, him, which is also to say Robed, kept, put, beside his bed and moved, by hand, everyday, around morning time. Knowing all too well that a house is not a motel, Robed never, ever, never let anyone else — aside from townsfolk and strangers — into his non-motel abode. I'm sure by now that you, with the eyes, who's either skimmed or endured this, is feeling a little awful, thanks in its entirety to this truly awful material blather. Thanks? Didn't think do.