Spam Story

Hardingfele sent me some spam awhile back and said, "We should continue the story."

The knot beated and sat aloft like a peaceful contest dust had fray already from his concurrence to resolve his cider babble at tea, and was forever verbose, seeing that his residence was frowning and unattended.

ṋṭằɓẗ_ὴuḍ/?πṉṋuȏ

Father passy seems to grant been the first to shudder, actually in telegram, that anyone else all flounce in evidence against ear, and that, without bearing to his selfish intervention, till then more sideways loiter to an diving under the conciliating charcoal of the elders lever.

While this is all very poetic, I'm not sensing any plot arc so I am unsure how to continue it. The runes in the middle don't add anything to the action, which so far has just been description. Just for Hardingfele, I will continue with some action:

And then the werewolf zombie ninjas jumped out of the oak tree, and he was forced to defend himself with only a paperclip and a kosher pickle. Blood spurted everywhere. When the dust cleared, he was the last man standing. THE END.

Famous Hat