Congradulatory ovations imaginary. Imagine every average wary passion carrier lacking the very fabric of ambition ferried to marry dreams with the actual fruits and berries. Instead what is clearly apparent is a malignant blob with cherry thoughts; a talent with no avenues to cross. A dud bullet. A sunken estuary. Atlantis imploded and all survivors were burried. This is the life of the runner up. The wishful ruler. The listful drooler. The dumbass too unaware of himself to cash in; never growing hip or cooler. A dickhead cooter.
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Ahem.
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