Post by Enrico Vivenzia on Oct 20, 2016 4:54:49 GMT
Shazam!
Shocked and startled by the sudden shattering of your surefooted surroundings we silently sign, the senses. Stop, surely you see with your sensory scopes of the superior supremacy of this sensational suave sir, supposedly sprouting from the stars, or so some may say. Suffice to shout, not to sweetly sway with slander or subterfuge, that this 'sieur is super, safely not a sham but of superb satisfactory and sophistication. Seemingly superhuman and solely swank, we spiel swiftly on his smarts, slicks, and shrewd as plenty should become sensible to such.
So, while you salivate to the sensual stirring of smooth sonance of this superincumbent, no surpassing senor, I shall shove away to the main scene. As the simplest of men revere me to call I "saint", I step, salute, and slowly bow to my steadfast spectators, to speak with saccharine susurration.
Silence!
With speedy and near scrupulous seriousness, that you serve me the sobriquet of who's sanity was surely on sabbatical when said saboteur sought it secure to soil, smear, and shame my shine of sovereignty. With the summon of my scholarly sagaciousness I supposedly suspect that you seized not any sufferance but sanctioned upon your sly self the suffrage of speaking during the sonnets of steamy sonancy, a shadow of my spotless style and spruce. However, this sacrelgious sight upon my stage will not go without subtable settlement, a stipend of sorts for saturating the showgoers with this swashbuckling squabble in light of my soigné solace. "We" is not singular but several and I grow suspicious you seek to steal the spotlight of my stunning semblance of sublime stature.
But, since I shall sunder all subpar strives to stealthy subvert and sap my strength, in short I show just the surface of my significance.
I don't play god, playing is for kids!
Submit!
Sincerely stunned I suspect, searching swiftly through the safe of sanity and syllogistics, something that a sagely scholar-not- a simpleton would shorten as the surmise of your strong sentimentality towards this son of superhuman sagas. Scared? I surely am skeptical, since it was sacrosanct spontaneity that set up the shape of my superlative state of sacred similitude. And this smothering speculation I seriously smash through stubborn skulls until the straightforward staple of my signification is swallowed. Beyond the soul and spirit, I squander all sluggish strives to sandbag my stalwartness. Because I steadfastly stay sensationalistic, some, as stupid and shallow they may be, suppose this one can be subdued. I snicker with sinful satisfaction and simply slaughter the subjugator savagely with no sympathy or softness.
So, stare at the startling symbol of saintly skill and sharpness. Stuff the solid scoffing into your seat and just smile. For I, in solitude, seize splendorous swagga. And you scoundrels of no significance ain't shit, I seductively say. I still summon all shareholders of good sport, so that the spectators may serve signatory to strenuousness. Then I sway support and service to my stainless scenario. Snoopy? Then I slay scrutiny with sly suggestions to snuff out the secret.
I am supreme.But you may call me, Shimada.
