An Unu∫ually Brief Treati∫e Upon ∫elf-gifting

Time after the holidays tends to find me mulling over olde yarns of wisdom. These kernels that stick in the teeth of your brain are at worst unpickable, and at best unflickable. This year, the loot Saint Nick procured for me was fairly vast, though not infinitely so. Despite the enviable sheen of my spoils, I still felt something was lacking. In a bout of soul-searching, I turned to a reliable adage:

Though turn, turn ye do
Through pinning tyles of teeléd bone
Clamping pence-pure from hand to hip,
Thine weathered greave collape
In concert with cracked cobbletone
Exhaution bruheth cloer this grail acros your lip.

And so did I emerge from Best Buy victorious.

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