Moses Candy

Up a paddle wink a whisker track about a mean enlister told to tape the holy cannon tattooed on a face of baskets travel bastards hinting biscuits.
True pillow boxers treat menace as house play but to the keen eye the horta needs culture.
Nodding and dancing with basketball empathy uncurved enough to confuse Shannon's Entropy, but soon enough bankers will pose and they'll say that the crisis inferred has only us to blame.
Soon enough though we'll grab a large and overhead rock that the pastiest do fear. A rock the size of our entire imagination, the borders it hits are borders we've never been formally introduced to. It envelops us, it enraptures a whole catalog of vagueness that seems to familiar. Now let us take this opportunity to thank Dr. Jung for his efforts in the field, but it was actually a lot easier than that.
A simple glance through some 3-D glasses, the picture reveals that the man is holding a dessert tray. An ancient dessert tray that is too sacred to replenish, so only the guards of the tray got any tiramisù. Overtime, the desserts were depleted, and now the greatest secret of all: the dessert tray is empty. And we all know it too. We knew that we got the concept and they got eclairs. We got the spirit and they got the material. The only problem is, those that ate the treats are now dead having contracted a rare bacteria thought centuries dead.
The real kicker is that if the tray was never decided to be sacred, the people could've made their own candy and treats. They could have applied their own questions and concerns, and perfected the recipe. Now we know we'll never know. So, guess we have to make the rest up as we go along?