all the little daisy canaries are flooding the windowed place… peer through that glassy eye and point yer clickything, it’s all a conspiratorial spatzo. but that’s aoky, i’ve been through worse cornucopiae.
through all the dastardly perinados, yes. i mean, no. how to describe the brain’s furlough, i mean, where’s it vacationing these days, that forward pushing just wants to lounge in the barca and drink mohitos, or some damn thing. the rain’s come back, like gangbusters, and all my gang’s a-busted, if you know, and the nurachems are placid and gray like the heaving stomachlouds. (oh ho, heavens! didja eatcha sumpin ya din agree wid yer stoma? gi gi, cackle)
muy eyeballs string whip tears (rip that plasty paper, mate, grawl it right down ya middle!) and i’m pushing them back up there with my greazy thumbs (i smell the blood of an englishmun)
but so, the carps been heaping all over the docky quay. smellin up the hair, don’cha wanna rub some o that goop in yer air? good gor! what’s gotten into that chib? he’s gone all gray, his wife’s fallen into the sloop!