Bulgarian Pangram

All I knew was IQ, that mine was
a stomach snolly-
glostered
by food. For a moment
I was in
someone else’s plush squeaking armchair, located
there gluteally
where
one ordinarily would be
who
is flummoxed
by moving, which was proposed as something
I could ‘more of’
be doing
even though even I
know haste is usual, and the impulse to
make it contra-
indicated
by lodes of modicum and its
dated effluvial. ‘Am I going to be carried off as a child’ if I
don’t eat all the bivalves
on my plate? The schnockered will still lollygag
for lieu, the insatiable will buffet
after remaining
in queue,
and the tables will stay, despite
the polyglot who
says there is no ‘one’ to wait
them or logistically
move them.