Ivory
fan service makes drainpipe trousers for Pappy. He is very particular about the
way they weave their argument and doesn't abide the felicitous squabbles that
divulge too many syllables. He was pleased to meet him that one time, is that
acceptable? He was pleased to meet him because the troglodytes were gathering
and the revolvers were all heading left despite the cathedral's obvious placing
in the standard events schedule. He changed coats before shaking Pappy's hand
and the knife was securely fastened to his crotch muscles, ready and perhaps a
little eager to strike the yellow British scuzzball. Get it right, Pappy said.
Back shortly, our hero said. He didn't reconstitute it word for word. It was
worthy and fresh but clunky. There was the weird sort of dynamic that is just
not interpreting their relationship correctly.
Somewhere
on a mountain there was a jewellery shop that wasn't even slightly original
when the hint of a twist comes around. Needless to say, it was lame. The heat caused
him to black out and then, of course, Pappy returned with a sexy sedative
called Marissa. She spliced his genome and thrust him back into the box naked
murky crayons. It was a multiple tragedy, a thousand mystics heard the screams
of patented colour crumbs as they triggered their own synaptic reactions. It
was horrifically piercing, a wing slamming against the terraform requisite. I
made it as yackety-yak as potentially could carry me but the refrigeration had
instigated Pappy's fart sequence. The skies filled with quitting superstars,
lit up by their temptation to strut their fresh jester stuff. The guns gleamed
with perfection as they made the tyrant go purple-shaped and stapled down to
the mast. It could well be the sun pudding, it could well have been the
striptease of somebody's instinct. My guess is Marissa was acting under orders
from McManus and his expressive silent partner Neil. Erasmus sat this game out,
he had nothing against Pappy and there was a stir fry to be overseen.
The
newspaper was very sensitive about the entire issue which is often a precursor
to a dark hypothesis. The soothsayer came the next day and wiped away our
intrepid hero from Marissa's tip, and fed it directly into Pappy's hungry heel.
There was always something amiss about his gait, almost puffed out road kill.
His armaments came off in soggy lumps which were then pushed into the corners
of the nearest reset button. There were red flaky bits all over the desk when
it was done but at least the electric current didn't turn subatomic. It didn't
hurt anybody which is within our regulation rules, no circuits had to be
shelved or put into the back of the truck. The best defence is a grappling hook
to the tit, it shatters all expectation and brings about Indian necklaces that
float off into the ceiling. The mole pushed the root canal into the
undiscovered hemisphere, sidelining the womanly data cube. The womanly parts
disappear...
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