Conciliating the imperil

Yeah, exactly. What a clusterfuck. The Schmuck skimmed through the handbook of illiterate calligraphy and deciphered it according to his intellect. He differentiated the context into descrying a proceeding racket. So scummy he was! He kept discerning insofar as possible. There was no reoccurrence. Only a hoarse wheezing emanating from the decrepit abiding on the rear apartment. The schmuck commenced to bleat when the hinge applied a massy blow on his ring finger, a scar that would sport for the next three months. At least his hideout was impregnable. To be candid, although he was overindulging in chicken nuggets and wine, he was feeling inviolable at his well shrouded voluminous library.