An intrepid sprint til trekking to an EXASPERATING half-halt.. she SHALL attempt for some kind of k-i-n-d-l-y comeuppance

In the form of One Man And His Transcendental Arm- right by nature… only so very left at the WRONG side of things..

an attempt to i-m-m-a-c-u-l-a-t-e-l-y (RE)inVENT a manner of crossing that oil-spattered border is to…

… somehow.. anyHOW, THOUGH.!?! cause ALL courteous sense of aforementioned transcendental to pre-imagine ITSELF UNTIL

NO MORE aforementioned CROSS-borders do APPEAR to shrilly exISt

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