Tugged Swiftly Into Romeo's Trajectory

So I'm going over my briefs when suddenly to my disbelief... Snap!... a seam pops. Who the hell was behind the manufacturing of said briefs?.. with all but an ounce of thoughtfulness set aside for the lowly and undesirable consumer. And now apparently there's water on the moon. Lord knows where that takes us, except far away from here. Dilapidated, cathartic... preposterous. Did you realize that the separate factions of the Christ-faithful are even divided on how to carry out renovations to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre? And where does this insane exclusiveness end, I ask you? Isolation is the key that unlocks the door behind which the two-dozen surviving members of the madness that is Gustavo Dudamel study and rest. Intensified in a manner that makes even the most high-octane fuel engine burst into a thousand tiny particles and evaporate into the cold, long dark. Lust and inadequacies can be found throughout Mario De Biasi's "Gli Italiani si voltano." Beautifully depressing. How does one not sit around thinking about all the awful things happening in their lives? How does one not succumb to the disparaging remarks made by those, and regarding the things, most close to them? This is, quite frankly, the all-empowering scientific discovery; the well, from which to drink we'd crawl through the vast, empty desert. Although I speak, of course, under the pretense of anonymity, since I'm not, truthfully, at liberty to discuss these matters. However, it lies far beyond the modern fanciful color and sidesteps any sporadic cloud formations as it slips eloquently into the Tasman Sea... along with Sidney. Excuse me... a push-pin for my map, please. I wonder if I will ever visit the same, devastatingly handsome cities I hold dear in my heart? I wonder if I will ever sail again? Oh dear Wembley... I say, these thoughts are for those who truly appreciate the aesthetic sculptural beauty; the toasty Expeditionist who says bon voyage to the criminals in the harbor... the Ecologist who teaches her children through backpacking and handpainting... the Gemologist who weaves together an extraordinary array of opal, lapis, amethyst, and moonstone. Mother Theresa is putting down roots in Hollywood and spreading this chemically-driven, orally-ingested sense of "GREEN." Fine wishes... one part androgyny, one part high fashion, all parts designed for life. As we coast through the holidays, we're full of surprises. It's the ultimate tasting room, chock-full of ornamental, succulent flavors that blow off your hat with a grin. Who'll get the ribbon when the top canine competitors gather together in Monterey? Honestly, who cares? They're the artisanal punches that add a splash to the already sophisticated yule-tide revelry. They're Gomez... they're Faustus... they're the the tantalizing bastard children that deliberately and nonsensically cavort through the vast web of ridiculous, historical opposition in their quest for total financial overhaul. It's a condemned collaboration between tribes that ought to be discussed: the fastest growing network on the planet. And it's right here.