GOLDEN FLEECE.PART 1

The Sunset's mores had not yet been dyed with the sunrise humours,but in counterpoise of the blackest dye.And been so dusty,not a bonzer boo of a boor to seek his vanity neighbour fret.A black comedy,a black humour and a bootless booncompanion,a borderline bootstrap,a consumate braggadocio,a breadlined breathways and with a lameduck ado,a brimful brimstone,not tinged with blustery jaw of jagged edges,to brawl the cankers of the bluish bludgeon.What a botch of blue moon,a theft of passing winds,that tinted this bosun's mien. Manjack,bungling bung,doth bullyboy his golden fleece,a gravy train muses.And so forth and back,this blockbuster of burlesquely bunting buzzes himself bootstrap and cajoles himself aloud;A cadaverous cagey,bent cahoot unto the cacophony of asinine trenchwarfare.Castigating him breaketh himself cataract and to those pungent vommit,goes straight he anew in reprisal.Which cat and mouse declares his casusbelli to catwalk causecelebre of a caustic cavalier?Which

clangor of the circadian rythm?