Blanket statement about blankets

I have composed exactly zero limericks in the last eleventeen minutes. Two more times than zero is at least the number of pie plates that were used as biplanes in a race to capture catheters named Cathy. Left handed microscopes are numbered alphabetically when being used as a pilot light to prevent nothing from not happening. A leftist branded a template much like a covalent bond smears political figures for having not picked up their canine pet defecation. All drones flying between 80m and 190m should be painted invisible and turned noiseless so as to placate the dirigibles that once, filled with helium, could masquerade as a spleen.

Getting dealt double jacks in your first hand is reminiscient of a windy day where blackberry cheesecake gets ridden over by a row of cement trucks all painted orange with black spots. Bowling sideways doesn't always make Hank pleased with the colour of sock he picked out on the day he turned twenty-three years old. Fortunately, he got over it.

In all honesty these posts give me the joy of stringing words together that do not usually go together. I like string, though I do find it hard to push.