jumbabalaya

mysterioso, the clown-nosed dolphin shape, lurking in the festive underbrush (all those sparkly dewdrop lights just pervert, distort the shadows making it oddly easier to stalk the wild fooblebeast) and singing softly to himself a myriad of rocking christmas tunes. in spite of the souring meteorites (perhaps, scouring would be better?) scrawling the puny lines across the sky, mysterioso plunges deep into his crossword, defying the 5 and 7 and 12 letter limitations. sometimes the word you want just doesn’t fit inside its boxens, you know? do these strange atmospherickal phenoms indicate some darker omen or presaging doomcicle, participle? or do we sit on some kind of bench and wait for the real indicators to arrive, the floating fish and swansons, the buried haberdashers and rubbishdwellers scurrying about the fiveanddimes, with their green coats on?

mysterioso’s just hunched in some kind of pretzel shape and his madness may be his fondness for the inkwell or maybe just the rate of sandpaper waterfalls which flow from out his ears. that scritchscritch–a wallowing, urban sound–would be enough to drive a saint batty. forget hairshirts, you wannabe sainters! indeed, the fluffy coats that are so nice for swimming, i mean, sleeping through the chilly crunchy night, THOSE coats are worth fighting for, worth trampling for at the first exposure of the store. be serious, you, about that shopping experience and be sure to fetch your caltrops and monkeygangers to ope the way. there’s no rules in love and war and shopping, or so they say. every new day brings a tale of some poor bugger blown away by a discount stampede, forget courtesy and lob your smoke grenades.

some would say those green monkey jackets are twee or quaint or stylishly bourgeois and, heaven forfend, tacky! but we know better, we purveyors of and caterers to those guerilla fashionistas. (though, if a greenmarker is sitting at YOUR breakfast table with scads of munitions strapped to belt and clumpy hat, ‘m guessing you’d be on your best behavior, too)

all’s well on boolyland, my friends and quaking oaters!

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