Give me a Holy reason, within this Christmas season!

I promise, I assure you, that it’s not too late to get a hot plate, maybe of some salty-sweet ham, layed the piggy Fat of the Land, some sand particles like the tiny crystals of salt—Krystle? that was not my fault!!!—from treason’s in reach, like the ground, to walk on, to chalk on, at the beach so sand-filled, I like my Ham-burgers breached and baked—take the $CAKE at once galloped nigh the gallows in the middle of the night—a nig-nog seasoning and putting up a fight, it’s all fixed, candle(-sticks) dripping earwax along the train tracks and a Tranche Bazooka Tube tuned and turning red, it’s blood instead of phlegm, that instead I had a ham and cheese sang-wich, some times been earlier to make it more dreary like a worthless fag, high up hitching the Tag-Hexer kidding keeping in mind my WRX beaten to death being so quick, it was a 5MT that’s five-speeds “Manny Trans” on a mission to bust that eruption the nocturnal emissions of some such unlucky bastards, those poor fucks, wearing black (face) JACK-ETS, like to sucking lucky suckle one’s speakers—only on the tweeters, tinkers, happy clams and their claims to have been of “Their Plot” and “THEIR PLAN” (https://jeffreymarquis.com/2019/10/15/1517/) taken sitting down, massively showcasing a pucker up kind of frown-ing—time of the town, taken a light down, with an empty charcoal grill—got that elongated lighter with that stick—bunny balls with cough-supprescent “Halls” like menthol candy in your mouth, kissing a trout, whilst laying lazy in a rut, in a route—ha that’s what this is all about Route 56 was so close-bye!

That’s all I have to say about that, MY CRASH WAS NOT MY FAULT!