Hundred-seventeenth Find in the meaning of life Scavenger Hunt.

(Proof of the Bio Statement;) IT’S LIKE A TWING… singes the sleeves, also the master plan, gone now I suppose. Think bigger, you slicker, Mr. Kovach, Snow King on the failed sun gas giant’s heat wave. Quick save in the tunnel on the rails infinitum—oh, it’s a loading screen. Hold, Please. Lactose, never cheese in the party photo, what bro?! Shit, let the duel commence. Not playing the fool, not introducing myself again. (What? Whe--) Creating the element that fits the villain ride, blanketed in a peacoat, lesser Boondock  Saint or the assassin mistaken for the Hitman nerd, choose your color. 3…2… Warnings stop fitting the outcomes. No clear direction anymore, not even to run. Both keep you warm before the buttons meet. Take a seat…A different kind of meeting, under grandiosed therapeutic style of retreating, bleeding into this tattoo for a certain 'kind--' of feeling. No use seething, I’m rereading that cosmic pamphlet (thanks) that everyone received at the gate, and while as we gaze now it’s a four-part novel now, most others forgot they memorized it in their waiting room.

To skip is essential to the path, provides the wind zephyr to the eastward craft. Remnants of the Raft found on the land, taste the sand in the teeth, next to the foil, blame the set up speed. Explore the shit that don’t rhyme. Fuck Adventure Time without the scent of gasoline from the pyre at the feet when you wake and the crucible of combat, intelligence, and—what the fuck was that Leprechaun one—Charm!? Burning down the arm…the acid is healing, the garden begins to bloom, pardon the love in the poison moistening the journey up the Dimensionally Absurd Maintenance & Negotiations; make no mistake, the super conventional jargon is the point. Dissing the wishing over your flawed diction, allegedly, for the problem solver already stalling in its current motion, fixed a few of these this morning, we've got a pattern... Stop fighting the entropy, and may your Talisman handle the "patterns" that use blinders as you reading glasses. (great work, slick) What work??? Anyway… It’s flatly baffling the swings appear so minor. The writing of these successes in the subtle, in our cosmic rebuttal is the kerfuffle that has all these betweener types befuddled--oh, they said, disappointed. Sorry, bad translation. (This one loves to back-sass, haha…excuse us.)