Voltaic Junkyard--cuisine of casual

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--cuisine of casual"
   
   And constant consumption of Gatorade, as if surfing on the sonic signals of thunder, or stampeding on that Brave-Heart tundra during Special Teams play @ full speed, the shakes are infused, not just mere milk, and even if--yup:  Nestle Quick, but everyday?  What else.  Sheila was fed up with cage free eggs.  She went to the grocery market like everybody else, used the sanitizing wipes upon entrance; next, pushed a buggy and made not government decisions on diet, yet her own, whether buying sugar cookies, pickles, or blocks of hearty SWISS--she simply figured it out on instinct, not minding a Vitamin C here and there, better absorbing the iron, when eating upon the chewy munch of organ meat, and it's not a crime, though was to Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli.
   Sheila always got the sparkling water gelled with a B-Complex source, and found almonds beneficial to stool evacuation; moreover, a hyssop drop during the dreary days wasn't bad, yet always a Cherry Coke, and then some, on the weekends, for every girl, even a She-Hulk minus the girth deserves random sugar, or so it would be so nice.  These are the products they're offering us.  
   She had piloted the Boss 302 to the store.  She left in a casual prance of white-letters rotating and dual-exhaust growling like defensive German Shepherds, with that wolf's recent snout and uncanny smell of milkweeds and all the rest.  But rock and roll never died, for history will always exist, knowing nasty was never fond of an early bird dinner, where silver hair comes alive.