Oh, don't tell me I'm not loquacious

I smert. I know big werds (permalink).

Would I be here consigning this missive replete with ostentatiously baroque verbiage if it were otherwise?

Alas, if I weren't, I'd take my sagacity and salacity, my Atticism and waggery and generalised savoriness and quit posthaste to a Bedouin encampment in the arid climes of the Middle East, the air redolent with the aroma of incense and dromedary with the lonesome plaint of the call to prayers not far.

Instead, I find myself here, in Adams Morgan, Washington, DC, United States of America, with an impish visage and a demeanor fraught with puerile lampooning.

And here, as you cogitate on my impious calumny, which began elsewhere and returns evermore.

I could go on.

And I will at a later time.