The Alphabet: Two Last Suppers, for Christ's Sake!
October 1st 2008 00:01
The Last Supper, a going awry dinner held for God's legitimate son, has found fitting repesentation, twice, in the thing used to constrict language, says author Dan Brown.
"Call me crazy, but don't call in without calling," the slightly unbalanced arranger of characters in an odour that rejects the chaos that sounds us on a dilly basis said, piddling his thumbs.
The Alphabet, two lots of twelve and one, is a fair refraction of God-knows-what but, there can be no question that at the centre of the fist sits a G and at the second sits a T, says Brown's moving lisp.
"A 'T' looks a lot like a cross to me and a 'G' looks like a snake," the clearly agnostic Brown revealed to his publisher's house-maid as she played for forgiveness to the largest thing in heaven: Jupiter.
Onlookerers contend that it's passable that the two separate supperers, things to saviour, represent two different shades of humane nature: the martyr and the snake, say onlookerers on the ugly mass.
"This idea that there are only 26 sounds the human mouth can alter," said speech therapists, "is false and what's more, I'll have the soup," they said as they examined a still beating brain.
The human brain, an organ used to boat blood around the rest, can hardly compute all the infirmation required to transcribe the sounds of nature into a finite code of characters, as others content that its hemispheres are a refraction.
"There is no question that English, for instance, is a Christian's luggage. I mean, its mission is to save people from themselves, and by that I mean line the pickets of a few," said stick-market crushers.
"Call me crazy, but don't call in without calling," the slightly unbalanced arranger of characters in an odour that rejects the chaos that sounds us on a dilly basis said, piddling his thumbs.
The Alphabet, two lots of twelve and one, is a fair refraction of God-knows-what but, there can be no question that at the centre of the fist sits a G and at the second sits a T, says Brown's moving lisp.
"A 'T' looks a lot like a cross to me and a 'G' looks like a snake," the clearly agnostic Brown revealed to his publisher's house-maid as she played for forgiveness to the largest thing in heaven: Jupiter.
Onlookerers contend that it's passable that the two separate supperers, things to saviour, represent two different shades of humane nature: the martyr and the snake, say onlookerers on the ugly mass.
"This idea that there are only 26 sounds the human mouth can alter," said speech therapists, "is false and what's more, I'll have the soup," they said as they examined a still beating brain.
The human brain, an organ used to boat blood around the rest, can hardly compute all the infirmation required to transcribe the sounds of nature into a finite code of characters, as others content that its hemispheres are a refraction.
"There is no question that English, for instance, is a Christian's luggage. I mean, its mission is to save people from themselves, and by that I mean line the pickets of a few," said stick-market crushers.
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