Good one, Jim. My first crack perhaps goes beyond "misprints," but I'll post it to see if people think it fits the bill:
Refiring after dirty beers of medicated service, the tire chef smoked up at a dinner given in his sauna as the mare resented him with the kiss to the city and a bold crotch. Byronically, as the tire compartment gave the chef a landing sensation, the ghost office down the block was cease by a condensation that turned it to the round, reducing it to suit and cash, and, importunately, billing two coastal jerks who were lurking wait shorting the evening male.
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