Kissing A Goblet Of Drywall
Don't you wish you could sometimes take the remote control's buttons for your face? I do, and I guess that's why Frank Fiddlefanny, the guard outside my saxophone, told me to pipe down or else he would pour Drain-O in my mouth. It made sense, so I removed my infection and engaged in discussing strawberries with the electrical outlet.
It's almost time for another annual Chrysanthemum Day, where a large Kool-Aid man flies around and tries to eat you. I know this because the nurse challenged me to a game of wits! Haha, Nurse Metropolis! Can you do any better? She did win, but I got the upperhand with some quick molasses and a three clicks, then it's back to Kansas!
For this special Day of Charmanders, I have decided to use some large tangerine skins as wrapping paper, in order to cover my hands and present my bosom to everyone. It's not an easy thing to realize your knickers are getting in the way of your analysis, but I have a dream to persevere and overcome advertisements.
"Here you are, my circus monkfishes!" I told everyone in the Ricola Rowboat. "Gifts for my pieces of technicolor, and treats for those who are enemies of the state! Is there a dividend?" I knew my cantaloupes would suffice, since they were not rotten, nor filled with jelly or vomit.
"You ain't Kris Kringle! FUCK!" said Lucky, who sometimes has a problem with different parts of the chimp. "FUCKING FUCK, YOU AIN'T A SANTIE FUCK!"
"Shows what you know, Alex Trebek," I told Alex. "It's time to spin the wheel so that you can lose all of your mouse hairs." With that, I removed my hand from the premises. Lucky did not deserve a large rectum.
Later, Doctor Pickle asked me, why did I choose to place Lucky outside of the vacuum chamber? I replied that he should inquire to the silly stain on the wall about that particular development, since I was currently on a 47-year journey to the center of my shit.
"Don't be a masthead!" Doctor Pickle yelled, and sent me back in time. It took me many years to find my way back, whereupon I noticed that my electrical socket had died and gone to Christ the Souvenir. It was only fair, but not for a mouseketeer.