The bathroom door was his favorite instrument.  His dead uncle used to be an almsman.  Diocletian might have been indifferent to him.  Reason and emotion fought constantly for control of his conclusions.  He had secrets.  His mother was the type of person that was only happy when the trashcan was empty.  He called his girlfriend and played "Happy Birthday" with the buttons.  He ate his cereal from Cool Whip® bowls that were older than he.  His eyes were not prejudice.  He hated his parents for ever knowing one another.  He hated good things for ever existing.  Syllogism made a hammock of his ear on weekends.  He made a full time job of sanity.  His body was celibate.  He liked to jar people out of complacency.  He was heard to say that she is very biological.  His skin gradually failed him.  He cared more about strangers than himself.  He was mad at his God.  He suffered from reverse colposinquanonia.  Early morning ecclesiastical façades frightened him.  He was forced to live by the few people he cared about.  He read with a pencil on his left and a Hi-Liter® to his right.  His superego dominated his trine. 

I have a beard.  Shave?  Shave not?

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