Certaine gayeté d'esprit conficte en mespris des choses fortuites. - François Rabelais

By robbing Peter he paid Paul, … and hoped to catch larks if ever the heavens should fall.

Readers, friends, if you turn these pages
Put your prejudice aside,
For, really, there's nothing here that's outrageous,
Nothing sick, or bad — or contagious.
Not that I sit here glowing with pride
For my book: all you'll find is laughter:
That's all the glory my heart is after,
Seeing how sorrow eats you, defeats you.
I'd rather write about laughing than crying,
For laughter makes men human, and courageous.

Like verisimilary amorabonds, we captat the benevolence of the omnijugal, omniform, and omnigenal foeminine sex. Upon certain diecules we invisat the lupanares, and in a venerian ecstasy inculcate our veretres into the penitissime recesses of the pudends of these amicabilissimes meretricules. Then we do cauponisate in the meritory taberns of the Pineapple, the Castle, the Magdalene, and the Mule, goodly vervecine spatules perforaminated with petrocile.