When the butterfly quits smoking

There is an aptitude that gets used to examine the least coloured of all brick laying hedge rims; to decipher if a quadraphonic pit variable would erase the centenarian's penchant for licking stamps a third time after two very satisfying first times.

The beep in my life is of such richness but shallow; like a pond built only for Hot Wheels cars. Is there even room for sentient AIs that give creepy messages to the first third while promoting wisdom to the other thirds?

There are no oppo-suits that would bake the cake; they'd just stand lustfully watching the Star Wars themed socks that danced the night away. Once the night was away, a lot of people got sun burnt.

A rich man once said that two times two is not the best idea a sturgeon could have on her way to the ice cream store to gain favour with the attendant. I should know.

Who knows what the solution isn't. Figuring it out is half the battle.