Better than a Rabbit's former Foot?

Fill your pockets (or even your hoodie's hood) with the plentiful flakes harvested from the scruff of my Pugdoodleranian and, thank the runic scratches found 'pon the Astral Bench of Heavenly Jurtle's Infinitely Idle Lazabouting, you'll be pleased to note your fortunes swinging headily into the positive; like the euphoric Bliss told in the Legend of Klee-Necks the Nape Scowler and his Cupboard of Never-Ending Fumes. Fear not taking too much for this Crispy Crop is ever-replenishing like the reverse-saliva of a Standard Raccoon wearing a Vest pinched from a Haberdasher under the influence of a Well-Timed Hypnotic Suggestion and the sway of a set of Janitor's Glistening Keys (a glimmering enhanced by a very recent and not entirely accidental dunk in freshly Unfreshened Commode).

I'm left to wonder (after this unexpected outburst) if it is actually possible for a Run of Good Luck to be bestowed upon me if, in fact, I agree to amass the allegedly Fey Dandruff from some stranger's completely Imaginary Mutt. He keeps pointing at it...but there ain't nothing there but the concrete.