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But Anita sat in a tub.

But Anita’s pomade—if it certified a cafe facade—if it rectified a mop—sat in a tub.

But Anita’s royal deportee, feet roped, lay or sat in a tub.

But as a wastrel (a revered loon) rots, a placid Arab mob held in a room made sure I’d lost if a fit soldier used ammo or an idle H-bomb a radical pastor (no older, ever-alert) saw as a tub.

But as we see, Lee sews a tub.

But at a Sinai bar, an Arabian is at a tub.

But at Embarcadero, bored, a crab met a tub.

But deliver a space cadet a pic named “Emancipated_Ace_Caps A_Reviled_Tub.”

But it is “it” I tub.

But, live dogma: I am God, evil tub!

But Nino is ired, Tab at derision in tub.

But no purist ass sat, sir, upon tub!

But no sign I’m mellow: AWOL lemming is on tub.

But no, Sununu’s on tub!

“But no toolsmiths I wish—” Giselle sighs, “I wish Tim’s loot on tub.”

“(But not sure by Amy)—maybe rust on tub?”

But now I won tub.

But Ragusa store, babe, rots a sugar-tub.

But Sebastian DeLeon remarks, “Kramer, Noel, Edna, it’s Abe’s tub!”

But still, if no jib barnacles sever a care vessel, can Rabbi Jon fill it’s tub?

But we do dew tub…

“Butanol” I aver, “prevents umpired art, as a trade rip must never prevail on a tub.”

Buttress Ed’s dessert tub.

Buttressed, we hew dessert tub.

CD bans nab D.C.

C.I.A.: “Some craft sale be last farce—mosaic.”

CIA: Some port I land, as a DNA lit rope mosaic.

CIT labeled Adele “Baltic.”

Cab, Otto; heed Dee, “Hot Tobac’!”

Caesar, erase a “C”.