Ho'oponopono

Forsooth, good God knows how Osmond Bogomolov of Moscow, son of Fyodor Bogomolov of Moscow, provost of school of topmost honors doth conform to frosh who stroll thro’ school’s dromos & do not bow or kowtow oh so low (down to th’ oft mopp’d nonwood floor!) to provost’s most soft of nods. Lo, for provost Osmond, solon most honor’d ‘mongst top-dog doctors, doth not conform! Doth not! Won’t! For provost Osmond – gorgon who morphs to cold rocks most of fools who do not know how to look on provost’s doomproof front – knocks off frosh who whoop for joy, tho’ do not follow common sopors & torpors of schoolwork’s norms. Lo, who doth not conform to provost Osmond (not most soft *or* most smooth of proctors!) confronts ghosts of doom who root from gloom, who loom thro world’s nooks, who look for poor folks to prowl on, who toll gongs of sorrow! (Mondo doloroso, no somos jocosos, somos pomposos!) Dot. Oh, do know: provost Osmond doth follow God’s Word, for provost Osmond’s sworn to th’ Orthodox school of God (provost Osmond’s so orthodox & oppos’d to tots torn from wombs), goth soon to ROCOR’s sobor to concoct most odd of th’ Orthodox shows – row of monologs on ‹How do monks con Mom, Son & Hollow Ghost?› – to hobnob ‘mongst th’ Orthodoxdom of coxcombs & snobs who opt to go for SOV (not for SVO) & form words of words for words & word for word roll so: «Osmond, old sport! How’s book?», goth Dr Norton. «To world’s bookshops soon off to go!», goth provost Osmond. «Good! Socko! Wot’s book’s plot?», goth Dr Norton. «So poor, worth not to comp words!», goth provost Osmond. «Do!», goth Dr Norton. Colon (two dots): «O.K., old sport! So. To not hold forth for too long: most of cosmochthons, from old prototrophs thro’ protozoons to tomorrow’s slopjock phosphobs who won’t pop off noncosmo-TV-pols or log off from wow & lol, prop on th’ old protocols to blow fogs of orchochthons thro’ gonophors onto th’ oppos & to honor Mbombo from Congo’s folklor or concoct homomorphs form’d from 50% homologons thro’ towstrolls of clock-block’d mortoll’s slogs. Now: phonochords grown bold to blow holophons of logophors (pro toto born on spot or borrow’d from Choynom, th’ old Mongol wordconcoctor) thro’ prolong’d stomopors, from short phobologs to long monoton logopors, croon homophons from sophodox to proctodox (from th’ ozostomobox), shorn of postlogodox thoro’ look thro’ own fopdoodl’d botch-gobs of oft too long logopors or grosso modo combos of lowbrow hotchpotch monologs of schoolboys for schoolboys.» (Dot, dot, dot.) «Provost Osmond! How to swot schoolworks?», frosh throw provost Osmond off. «Form of forms!», provost Osmond’s so provok’d, «Howso do porlocks who don’t know how to groom pogonotrophs, oh so not fond of postpos’d homoyototons, not know how to follow scolopophors’ cloos & not to block Dr’s monologs? Pottos, jockos, hoolocks or bonobos who hoot toxophor-words & hopscotch from pronoms thro’ pro-forms to prop-words! ‘Twon’t work! Poor frosh, hook onto logos’ boons to hold forth & not chord hollow vows or troths sworn to no God! Logos, most goofproof of homo’s tools, flows thro’ both Dolos’ cons & Horkos’ owths, so do, do know how not to knock down provost’s wordflow, frosh! ‹How to swot schoolworks›, ffphpht! Look for Thoth! Oxomoron, stoom scotochthons’s God! Go off crook & thro’ hook or thro’ hook plonk down on y’own stool to go thro’ world’s most known scrolls!» «W-wot?…», frosh: boggl’d. «Frosh’s got no topos, no photon-glown mottos to show off, so long off from old jonnock solon’s gogo sooth! Bollox ‘pon bollox, вот! Who knows not how to hold off from F-bombs or how to drop L-bombs on th’ odd months won’t control dooms of N-bombs & tombs of H-bombs! How do frosh who loom so coldcock’d hold off photoproton-shroom’s boomfogs from th’ oh so lov’d world? Вон! «Mots so bon Fookow’d grow fond, no?», goth Dr Norton. «Bocoo!», goth provost Osmond. «So how to know wot’s on Dr’s crownbox?», hoot snotnos’d frosh; trophotox-bolts of provost’s sophologs go thro’ logopors & doxopors to form photopors to go thro’ for homochthons of cosmos’ nomologs. «Oh St. Dovmont of Pskov!» (th’ orthodox bro who conn’d folks from Novgorod) «Books‘n’books & no mo’! Not vlogs or moblogs – books! Conform to books’ boons! Conform to works of John D. Robb or N. Gogol’s ‹Old World’s Sodlords›, works of Wordsworth of Woolf, works of Sholokhov or Doctorow! To books of Brown or to books of Loos! To books of Koontz or Moorcock! Or good ol’ Fyodor! Conform, oh conform, conform to works of Sholokhodorormontobokov! Works of Kolmogorov!…» (doctor who won Wolf’s troph, most known for topologs & homologs) «…Or works of Ford M. Ford! Not motors! Conform to books of O’Connor or Cook, Johnson or Jonson! Words on sold‘n’lost Oroonoko! Tlooth’s tooth! Scrolls on Osorkon! Or Fo! Or Fó! Book of Job! Books on cordforms on Jomon bowls! Books on th’ Ostrogoths! Horrorbooks! Spookbooks! Books on books! Books on books on books! Books on bolodons, conodonts, docodons, lophorhothons, mochlodons, pogonodons, procoptodons, prozostrodons, rhophodons, toxodons or troodons! Toss off th’ OP protoss goons, both noobs & pros: books, books, books, books, books, BOOKS!» Soon, not two moons off from now: «Oh boy…», oh frosh… «Lo, for provost Osmond owns lots of Tolstoy’s works (prosopobooks): ‹Tothood›, ‹Boyhood› & ‹Not-so-old-hood›; not so known books too: ‹Godson›, ‹Snowstorm›, ‹Two Old Folks›, ‹Cost Too Loft!› (‹Вот Дорого›), ‹Oomph of Gloom›, ‹How to Do Now?›, ‹To th’ Orthodox Bosshood›, ‹Do Not Chop Folks’ Nobs Off›, ‹Two Whorts›, ‹Wot For?›, ‹Work, Mort ‘n’ Wog›, ‹Sodlord’s Morn›, ‹Wot, wot, wot?› (‹Вопрос, Вопрос, Вопрос›), so forth ‘n’ so on!» frosh don’t know wot’s wot: «Whowghowho?…», So goth provost Osmond’s work for th’ orthodox froshschool. Months of months of profs who cowork thro’ hobnob plots & frosh who don’t know wot’s wot. Now, onto ROCOR’s sobor, for provost Osmond vow’d to Lord of Lords’ crown of thorns to form most good of shows. Off! Provost Osmond’s room: on topfloor; bold, gold mosk font on front doors, long cosmos off from dorms, for provost Osmond blows morons off on spot. Not so oft poor frosh knock on provost Osmond’s door. Now, morn ‘pon morn, provost Osmond looks thro’ books of, to, for & from God or troopostols (zwölf ‘postrophs!) for proofs of own boon, tho’ scorns Song of Songs’ words for too low, hollow plots, of no worth to provost Osmond’s concord. How so? Provost Osmond doth not drool to low oomph of Sodom’s porn (or wot’s sort of of Sodom’s sort). Now Sodom, tomorrow Gomorr-… *Knock-knock!* «Stop!», shock! «Who looms on provost’s front doors?!» «Frosh, m’lord!», lo, for so doth provost Osmond confront poor frosh: «Go on!» «Goodmorn-…» «Frosh Todd, Roy or Morton!», for provost Osmond doth not know who’s who; wot for? Frosh’s frosh. «M’lord!» «Do frosh Todd, Roy or Morton conform to most orthodox of school’s protocols?» «Of co-…» «Do not stow provost’s words, fool! Do frosh Todd, Roy or Morton forgo Word of God?» «N-no! No!» «Do not whoop to provost!», scowls provost Osmond. Frosh don’t know how to hold forth, «Do frosh Todd, Roy or Morton know of most common protocols of God?» «N-n-n…» «Wot?!» «N-n-no!…» «Oh Lord! How so! Thonthorstrok! Word of God – root of boon & honor! Who doth not know God’s protocols doth drop from school!» «Oh no! No, no, no, n-…» «Wrong! Do not sob! Stop! Won’t do! Now go! Go, fool, go!», now, on to frosh who’s top notch, «Frosh Osborn!» «M’lord!» «Doth frosh Osborn know most common of God’s protocols?» «Of co-» «Go on now!» «10 most common protocols of God: 1. God controls world solo; 2. Do not concoct own dolls, nor do bow to wrong gods of gold; 3. God’s honor’s worth lot, do not mock God; 4. Yom of God’s yom of God, son; 5. Honor own mom, mom’s consort too; 6. Do not knock off folks; 7. Do not bonk wrong nooks; 8. Do not prowl on folks’ lot; 9. Do not concoct bollocks; 10. Hold off for good from good folks’ lot or consorts.» «Good, good!», provost Osmond cools down & goth on, «Most do not know how to follow Word of God, most frosh rot ‘mongst horrors of th’ Orthodox Rock’s bosom, for who doth not show boon for topmost stronghold’s front doors, doth not go on! Now look, frosh, look! So do scrolls of God school morons: ‹(25) Now to God, who doth know how to concoct strong folks; so doth m’own word spot, so do vow Son of God’s protocols, to concord too to yon words for so long not known, (26) tho’ known now, thro’ prognostomos doth God grow on goys – who for now scorn God’s word, tho’ soon won’t – so doth opt God for, God who doth not plod to old form, to convoy how to conform, not how to look for hollow proofs – (27) to God who dons most loft of crowns, who’s th’ owl ‘mongst worlds of fools, thro’ Son on Cross, to whom th’ honors flow googolslong, forsooth!› – Colophon Doxologos, Rom 16:25-27.» «Now, shoo, frosh, shoo!», provost Osmond borrows words from Bök’s book of monophons to shoo off toppl’d off frosh who go forth to jot down provost’s words. School’s clos’d: off from work! Now on to provost Osmond’s common sloths. Wot’s good for provost Osmond to sooth schoolwork’s torpors? Oh, brood not on prof’s probs, for provost Osmond doth smooch to foxtrot on odd months, tho’ not too oft (Mon: 7 o’clock, p.m.) nor too long (tops to 9 o’clock), to not droop or drop off too soon. Provost Osmond doth know how to slowfox, tho’ provost Osmond’s footwork’s not so smooth, crosswork follows on cold floors. Moon shows off – provost Osmond goth to provost’s dorm, to most good of consorts whomto provost Osmond’s hook’d for good: Mrs Róng Sōng-Bō (soon Mrs Sōng-Bō Bogomolov), born to Hmong monoglots who frown’d on slothdom, scorn’d bopomofo & who took off from Long-Dong town north to Hong-Kong (not to Kowloon), tho’ now good God knows how shoo off cohorts of wolfs from doors (so to borrow folks’ common vox). Provost Osmond propos’d to Mrs Sōng-Bō, so now Mrs Sōng-Bō sooths provost Osmond’s sorrows, for Mrs Sōng-Bō’s too good for th’ old, most snob of consorts. Snob of snobs, tho’ moot on provost Osmond’s kop (Kopf voll von Gold, jo!). Provost Osmond goth thro’ books so oft – how good for provost Osmond to know provost Osmond’s top-notch & top-spot. Wot chords follow provost Osmond’s bookwont? From bloomhood groov’d provost Osmond to coos of G. Popov (born on 12.09.1904, most known for No. 1 Op. 7, who too compos’d for ‹Holm of Doom›) or N. Sokolov (born on 26.03.1859, Hooks for Boy’s Vox, Op. 6 or Op. 15), now doth so too, for old songs of oh-so-good form comfort provost Osmond. Oh, songs! Provost Osmond ‘lmost forgot! Tomorrow’s Kotono’s show (frosh whom’s provost Osmond sooo fond of)! Kotono Otomo, sophomor & tomboy from th’ old sod of Tokyo (not Robocop’s opponontohoros) who scorns homophobs, kodomo born of two doctors who loom’d off from Kyoto c. ‘04; shōjo who togg’d on – no, not komon – low cost non-compo boots, long school-socks & dogwood-color’d pompom-top. Gold hoops thrown onto bolts of crow-color’d forlock to oft roll off onto Kotono’s pock-throng’d forfront clock. Soft-kohl’d lookorbs down from brows throw looks of scorn (not so smooth to spot for most of folks tho’). Chops glow from lots of floodproof gloss. Most provostproof of frosh who knows- no, not knows, who wots- no, not wots! Who groks how to control- no, not roto! Monochord koto’s vox! Not so old, tho’ soon to cook stok’d-pork-color’d cohosh root to sooth off dolors of so-soon-to-oft-confront-bloodflows’-hormonogrom (phorozoon who blossoms, so to yock – jok’d Kotono’s mom whomof Kotono’s not so fond for words of so low oomph). Sophomor who got to know Holdsworth’s form thro’ & thro’, who conn’d how to control koto from Sōtō school & hon’d most thoro’ of know-hows, who ooz’d forth & now blows off twonks & yo-yos who do not know how to plot most schlock of chords. Now, Kotono’s not of rodomont-sorts, Kotono doth not show off own koto-boons too oft, nor toots own horn to cock-mooch folks’ words of strok’d kopf’s host’s boost (tho’ von whom provost Osmond’st so trotzt), for Kotono boycotts most hollow of hollow opthoods ‘mongst common folks or frosh or doctors or brownnos’d soyboys who scorn folks for lowbrow crowdcloth of words or so (provost Osmond’s sorts do so to lock off from most honor’d forms of Pono). So, on to Kotono’s koto show now. Borts from north blow‘n’snow onto school’s prostoons. (Oh ‘pollodoroos! Docomomo’s so honor’d forms!) Provost Osmond’s school’s sort of Pontorson’s notrdom, tho’ not so old or grown. Chockblock monochoron: lots & lots of folks flow onto school’s hollow rooms. Frosh from London & Hogtown (or Toronto), gossoons from Rho-Rho-Rho or so, frosh from most-posh-Oxford or most of London; Moncton, Boston, Fort Worth, Provo, Thornton, Kosovo, Compton, Stockton, Longmont… Frosh from Stockholm, Oslo, Novgorod, Omsk, Rhoon, Borgloon, Colombo, Dogon, Rostock, Brno, Komsomol, Coshocton, Towson, Somoto, Mokhotlong, Smorgon, Ollomont or… «Stop!», provost Osmond who forclos’d school’s doors from folks who bobbl’d too slow & got too-not-on-clock blows on hot & cold to sooth frosh’s voxchords. Kotono work’d for months, from glows of morn to downs of moontorch, on wot’s to go off soon. Wot do songs of koto show to convok’d folks not wont to not-hollow songs? No forword, ’coz Kotono’s th’ ochlophob (not so fond of crowds, mobs or throngs). Kotono slommocks forth onto th’ old cocobolo podfloor. Provost Osmond sooths Kotono’s protosorrows (or so provost Osmond hop’d for, to not go too hotpot on provost’s worth). Tho’ Kotono’s not wont to shows, Kotono’s bold & compos’d, so provost’s words do not do Kotono no good. Kotono plonks down on godroon’d stool. Kotono no otonoko no Rococo no kokoro’s strong. Soft hownds mold slow & low-ton’d phonologos of Kotono’s song, ‹Ochoko›, forg’d not-so-long-’go, tho’ comp’d for whom… No ghost knows. Songs of folks who hold good for long, John Col’s B.Bop horn (‹Coloss’ Stoops›, ‹Not so Coloss Brown Book›, ‹Don’t Know Wot’s Lov’d› or ‹Too Tot to Go Slow›), Tool (‹Pot›, ‹Bottom›, ‹Flood›, ‹Lost Locks› & ‹Twofold›) or Floyds (‹Dogs›, ‹Not Now John›, ‹Lost for Words› or ‹Mom› (doth mom prop folks won’t drop bombs?)’d know not how to confront Kotono’s noodl’d glow. Prolog: zoomorphs loom on folks’ kops: brood from th’ old morns to crocs, komodos & tomodons – protoprocolophonomorphs of tomorrow. Ro poroporo, 露ぽろぽろ Shōkō no yo no tonbo, 小康の夜の蜻蛉 Sorosoro yo. そろそろよ Oboros blot off moonclock’s hooks; frost ghosts of snowbroth who forgot to flow off to cold worlds. Smooch’d & snogg’d frogs do not morph to lords; frogs plop onto bogponds to form hoops on tops of pools, post-hop. Soft rondos of whorls flow whorl-hoops onto whorls of mollo whorlpools. *Rhobbom-rhobbom!* Soon frogdoms blossom twofold; from nook to nook frogs form gross jowl-pompons. Hold-… Hold-… *Rhnombgob-rhnombgob!* Toothworts grow from th’ oophorons, trogons prop on toyons, sporophor-ooz’d moors of rhodocolor’d odontoglossooms blossom to bloodworts’ loomblooms. Cov’d brooks flow & swoosh to convoy songs of hoopoos who provok’d Solomon’s blood to cook for no prox of words thro’ long long months. Th’ orbs of glowworms’ phosphor tow good broods of moths to form odd mothodologs. Momozono yo, 桃園よ Boroboro no Rongo, ぼろぼろの論語 Tomo no oto. 友の音 Hot noon. So hot th’ H₂O cooks on spot. Hook of moon to chop thro’ God’s condo. Boxthorns blossom born of blood; common St. John’s worts blossom born of Procyon’s glow. Stooks of corn loll down on cogon floor’s sods. Flocks of bloodstock not-shod broncos go thro’ holts to jog on shroomgrowths & whorts, ford thro’ fords of fork’d off brooks. Hoofstomps slog & throb slo-mo. Brown shorthorn cows & toros who know noth’ of no cowpox trod forth hoof to hoof, trog slow on tophs of moonworts, plod thro’ wolds to mob low, smooth morros. How now brown cow? Now brown cow so: «Moo-moo», moo cows, «Moo.» Th’ offblows from fowl’s offgrowths blow thro’ th’ oxford crown’d motmots to follow stormstorks who go off to form tots. Bolts jook thro’ th’ offcolor horojozon. Th’ old gold moon looms thro’ world’s loftrooms – golf orb; flows forth, onto pool of l’o (soz for th’ orthokochlos to folks who nosh frogs). Poson! Th’ octogoogolphlox of monkhoods strows forth to bloom onto hollow rootstocks & stolons. Lotosblooms contort strown onto pools of oxbows. Konohodo to, 此の程と Kōyō no kōyō tomo, 綱要の紅葉とも Yoboyobo mō. ヨボヨボもう Drops of bloodclot-stodg’d fog-goo roll down mossgrown rocks & slosh on knolls, gold crowns swoosh shorn of most of fronds. ‹Oh no, poor Flo!› Slop’d woodlogs hold forth: «Yo soy Groot!», «No, yo soy Groot!» & so on. Low & soft corkwoods sogg’d & bogg’d for too long now. Th’ odd fog looms off from woodworks, grows onto momos. Mood? Sort of Corot’s ‹Monk looks thro’ Books›, tho’ no monk or books. Not D-moll or F#-moll (sort of both). Cooldown. Hot morns coy off. Drop. Drop. Drops to pools, pools to storms, storms to floods, floods toyphoon ‘mongst cold old worold’s zoohoohooms. Pronghorns blotch hoofspoors on woodsfloors, bontboks row thro’ commov’d floods of rocks, worlds off from now. Scrolls of pogonophors on pools’ bottoms flow from whorl to whorl, short to long. Protrochophors hook onto scrolls to look for food. Monsoons, look! Whorls go down to dows to follow cods & cohos on rockbottom floors. Th’ onocrotors loop onto fogbow’s hoops grown from stormdrops on poolglows. Con’d softwoods’ wobbl’d thorns hoof‘n’crook ‘mongst loft’s slowdron’d words of fornoon’s sotto songs of whooshblows. Th’ osmos’d words hoot so slow. Sorotto kōsō, そろっと降霜 Yōyō no toro no sōtō, 永々の吐露の双頭 Ō no o-choko. 大のお猪口 Njörðr’s boro blows from northmost fjords of th’ old north. Snowblows drop down, rhododons droop down too. Fork’d drongos toot so strong cotton bollworms look for spots to lock for cocoons. Wolfcrowds nos’d no food, for chok’d chlorochthons of Motoporoporo woods clogg’d dogconks, so now, wroth & hollow, go off from grots to growl & prowl for sport, foon thro’ kloof’s hollows & cols to most chock-o-block of woods to look for food. Clos’d hoops of wolftroops jolt from cold, stomp on woodlogs & plow thro’ frostworks of snow. Conch’s wobbl’d prods prompt to look forth. Doggo, now. Look. Fox. Follow, slow. So forth so good. Don’t bolt; too soon to do so. Wolfcohort, zoom. Dogtrot. Fox’ O’s spot wronghood moods. Clock’d. Pronto lollops off to snowcocks on snowtops. Fox – scoots off. Go! Choof off. Wolfmobs lop off fox’ offbolt. Horrorshows won’t stop. Fordoom. Look of forknown Mort’s glowflow. Block’d off from th’ odolog. Shock! Flops down. Snowdrop. Both so slow & so photon; torporodox. Jowls hold bod’s smoosh’d poochclods of foxchops, tooth to tooth on blots of blood for coldblood godhood’s plot. Gobbl’d fox morphs to orts; pond of blood. Wolfflocks howl to th’ orb of gold moonbrooch on whom Thoth took pot. Thoth’s hownd. Th’ owls hoot to moon’s crown on loft’s bosom: *Vorondolooo!* Moonbow’s glow cools down th’ octogon, hollow room; shoots off long swords of cold gloom onto room’s floor. (Oh, poor, poor phototrophs!) Woodfloor’s forms morph so slow no gooftroop knows how to work off songdom’s spoof. Soon, brown floors hold colors of snowgloss. Cool glooms drool onto footstools, ponds of frothbloom blossom forth, grow onto both footcloths. Moon’s thorns of glow frost on cocobolo floors to loom off, roll off onto tomorrow’s morns. From chromobordo thodol tombs do worlds soon morph to cosmos’ color’d wombs. No postword! No foothold! No norms got not-conk’d! Kotono’s monopol’d song robsorb’d schoolboys. No ‹now› now, oh no. Row on row: from cold to hot, from F-stop to T-stop, fondl’d folks whoop from joy to Kotono’s show hon’d for yonks (months, months long!) thro’ th’ old, prov’d Pomodoro protocol (25m. on, 5m. off) & good not-to-stop workflow’s yoyos too & flow; crown of crowns ‘mongst shows of koto songs. To go for so long & not to drop off – God how good’s Kotono! Kotono choos’d not to & now prov’d how to go thro’ & do wot’s to do. No room for sloth! (Good work cost – grow or go!) Chronolologos know not of wot’ll clocks prolong. Dodos & locofocos lock off from conflockts; so do fops & mods. Posh doctors who do not know how to stop common colds for good, boggl’d & blown off to protons, hold CO² from postglow’s flogs (not too long, for two yoctomonths tops) & moot & won’t stop. Bosthoons got school’d on how to look on songs. Sort of clon’d Goldbloom doth Goldbloom’s look. Norm-sorts folks who’d not concord now go on to bond how good bros bond. Sons of Kronos got off from th’ old pop. Doorpost commons don’t know wot to do. Top row knows no stop; front row knows no top. So, how doth provost Osmond do? Oh, so, so good! Provost Osmond’s wordpools of honors go thro’ rooms to Kotono. «Mon dyoo! On spot!», howls provost Osmond to sooth off Kotono, who knows not how to shoot Ko on Go front, tho’ yok’d sonoroworks of koto thro’ Ponos’ boon to crool not th’ OST of God. Oh, how good. Provost Osmond, consol’d thro’ & thro’ (dogg’d too), goth thro’ crowds of folks to prop Kotono for Kotono’s koto-show of sorts not to mock (who, ofc., ow’d provost Osmond no boons), tho’ moros’d Troy-hors’d off from Kotono’s forsworn promotor’s job thro’ Kotono’s compos’d non-prod for provost Osmond. Provost Osmond’s told off thro’ Kotono’s look of scorn, tho’ doth not follow wot’s on or how to brook th’ odd cloy of clos’d books. Provost Osmond sporks. Colotl’s fork’s not so droll. Cogs lock off; don’t slow down now. Th’ Ordo Oro Sol crowd convoys Kotono to doors & go for long strolls (no word on pollbooth or so). Show’s pro bono, tho’ Poros’ boon shows both provost Osmond & Kotono Johnyōkonnon’s loot; flood th’ odd world of schoolfolks’ schoolworks th’ old ghosts of Hoʻoponopono. Now on to Thos Grol.