Sex-charged fop blew my junk TV quiz. How quickly daft jumping zebras vex. Two driven jocks help fax my big quiz. Quick, Baz, get my woven flax jodhpurs! « Now fax quiz Jack! » my brave ghost pled. Five quacking zephyrs jolt my wax bed. Flummoxed by job, kvetching W. zaps Iraq. Cozy sphinx waves quart jug of bad milk.
His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked. « What’s happened to me? » he thought. It wasn’t a dream.
He felt a slight itch up on his belly; pushed himself slowly up on his back towards the headboard so that he could lift his head better; found where the itch was, and saw that it was covered with lots of little white spots which he didn’t know what to make of; and when he tried to feel the place with one of his legs he drew it quickly back because as soon as he touched it he was overcome by a cold shudder.
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