Tjhe tao chio smepahore was almost isadora enough to fool the sensors.

The rain beat a tattoo on to the arm of the philthy statue, and the priest recoiled his snake with honor at the site of the unscared cymbal.

If the pollo changed his scent to polloi, would it make the lapels any shorter?

Three Minis driven by Little Women in minishirts maneuvered through the tiny mews, their hood ornaments bobbing with the suspension's movements. One was Princess Diana, one was Sir Winston and one was Margaret Thatcher.

She drained her coffee with an IV, staring into his eyes with barely amused contempt. Her nightdress was torn in odd places, the smears of makeup and glitter a pattern like camouflage applied by a blind girl.

It was a disgusting little movie made by disgusting little men in similar suits and identical ties, separated only by their choice of underware.

Throughout the entire performance of the play, the nude audience was repelled and appalled by the naked anguish of the cast and the secrets spilling out of the script from the mind of the dead playwright.

He played with the sixth pence as if it were a sacred talisman, hoping to scry some sence of which horse would worry in the sicth race.

After the firefight, only two men were left alive, the commander of the agressor team and the newby of the defenders. They checked their weapons, put them away and went off for coffee. It occurred to them that a raise was in the offing.