"...halfway into the opening of the anus until the hilt.
However, back onto the subject of rambling, a veritable pastime which may empower and deflower the mid-day walker to such degree that he may exact a firm level of glee, gait and gaiety.
We ramble. We ramble. Why do we ramble? We cross over fence and fen to enoble the spirit. To fill the lungs with crisp atominons of airfresh and taste the scent of honeysuckle, the rimflower and the quiverhorse into our souls.
We ramble, not because we can, but because we must.
But moving back to the anus..."
Rambling in the Eighteenth Century, and Musings on Defecation by Sir Quicey Nice IV
