“I didn’t quit. I was just quite quiet due to the quickened pace of life. Not Q-tips, quern, quark or Quorn, but rather the quest to its quintessence, perhaps mostly by quick-witted query of the quotidian or a qualitative quantum of quantum mechanics.

There was quality time with a quenchless quintet of quirky quibblers, queueing up to quip a quid pro quo for a recent quandary in which someone quarried them for queen qualities. Until they were quits. Queezy, really.

I was querulous and qualm at times and quarrelsome as usual. Quoting the Qur’an while heaving a quicky with my queen, I quaffed off quaint liquids till I quivered. The news quacked about queerbashers, those people are quadruped.

You may think I’m quixotic and you’re probably right. But I’ll quiz you quizzically: is there a quicker fix to quicken the status quo, other than to drive the Q-qualified quill?

Consider it art qua art.”


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