The Hypercontext

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The Hypercontext is the main attraction on Eris, in the 12Fold Resorts.


A tinsmith's solemnifying fondant egg defeated our seventh banana virus, a drooling Tau-era ovum, yolk slyly couched. Quints put lean nozzles under a bearlike begonia ball. It attaches to suit a parenthesis junket who owns a gay eaglet. Jeep Kitty, why does the band of an hour seem to twist as I hear pears grow? Airhead swine in iodine.

A timeworm whistled a teacup to imprison an ocelot friend's clown. Whenever it thawed, she went planetside near film holes to be freer. Her privilege for her heroine is to plunge a heresy into brother superior. Ilia hi pipit rum pom ji! Shh, we strew trends when it snows TV. A story tooth sounds better than when you wet it, so hit the fat one dab away. She who prowls debts thy will.

Your humble Narratrons wish we could describe the pleasures and terrors of the Hypercontext in terms more helpful than these. But we have been here a bit too long. Ilia hi pipit ran hoon tan!