Huminuh's World's Best Salad Bar
Love the sitar.

Finnegans Wake Book 1 Chapter 5
O, undoubtedly yes, and very potably so, but one who deeper thinks will always bear in the baccbuccus of his mind that this down- right there you are and there it is is only all in his eye. Why? Because, Soferim Bebel, if it goes to that, (and dormerwindow gossip will cry it from the housetops no surelier than the writing on the wall will hue it to the mod of men that mote in the main street) every person, place and thing in the chaosmos of Alle anyway connected with the gobblydumped turkery was moving and changing every part of the time: the travelling inkhorn (possibly pot), the hare and turtle pen and paper, the continually more and less intermisunderstanding minds of the anticollabora- tors, the as time went on as it will variously inflected, differently pronounced, otherwise spelled, changeably meaning vocable signs. No, so holp me Petault, it is not a miseffectual why- acinthinous riot of blots and blurs and bars and balls and hoops and wriggles and juxtaposed jottings linked by spurts of speed: