The American

The American will always speak American. His accent is full of unspeakable truth. A nightmare for his audience he always tends to add strange, stringent and above alle strong accents to the sounds he makes, as a nuclear sewing machine would do or in general any other machine, as sense comes from the profit it needs to exclude the meaning it could have if it would be without profit. Explaining anything said in a most generous and straigtfoxward way no American would hesitate to speak of the Millennium Crisis as The Resurrection of Christ. A Volkswagen may do as well. Each newest theory on solar birdshit, even crap older than a thoughtless birthday gets stiff on the apple. The American has kept the naive so well-preserved.
He figures it out, the apple juice, his X-mas gifts. The cat came to the caterpillar. This made one thousand dollars.
Please note, within any 30 seconds he is able to quote his parents. Say nine hundred ain't a load but it still is a lot if one million is too far.
And always that canny accent, making it cool as a breeze from Peep Town. All right then. The biggest soupe: migration, and keep one thing in mind: migration.
The box. It's all right there. Stick to the box. So far from. (noise)