Once upon a bed of thyme we ate messily and took our time getting to the
chickpeas of unrestrained desire, the heroes of chocolate icing. After
dessert, under the couch -- rabid dust bunnies eat my socks and chase the
spiders out. Tomorrow, Elvis will become Cthulhu and we find Cthulhu-porn
disgusting hung on rafters with Swiss cheese in the rain on tiptoes, under
soft pudding mountains.  Meanwhile, in Denver, John does not talk to
elephants.  Without his spatula and a bulwark against eating mucus from
which springs many evil clones of Elvis' brother that make noises like
penguin livers and sneak around behind the biggest styrofoam redux lies
with marinara sauce as they fly under low bridges with cerulean
watermelons dancing on windowpanes.  With green shoes but not with
gorillas in jars that are noisy.  

"Egads!" cried the caterpillar who needed earlobes.  "My last diary entry
was ubiquitous, perpetually juxtaposed...but my first was hurst and" - but
suddenly, interrupting...the elephants entered.  Holding their trunks full
of aardvarks and armadillos, as purple anteaters stumble around underfoot.
Hardly...are they great...at swimming, but nevertheless they swim...in the
pineapple raisin sauce without and bubblegum within while the rain makes
eeping noises in purple armadillos' nests.  How can the green typewriter
make passes at another typewriter's wife with an elephant who sneaks in
with bubble gum covering his toenails?  I don't think therefore I'm not
although sometimes I really would like to yodel naked while eating pecans
and making passes at the violins.  Who, gratuitously, were becoming more
asinine by the minute.  Hyphenation is a really-cool-way to run with into
walls.

Meanwhile artichokes are restless in small numbers, when it's dark and
they're hungry.  So then the length of time in New York which we spent
cutting raw human was less than the purple elephants.  Meanwhile, Nerf
bounces.  Nerf turns Narf into a penguin who is a good friend of the ones
who obfuscate krill larynxes and other microscopic eggplants.  Which has
more arms?  I lost the banjo which has elephant coloured radioactive dust.
Frank disagreed.  Mars rather than Betelgeuse is the site where Frank
could touch his toes to his nose without screaming "Guacamole!" inside
parking structures loudly.  What is the square root with triangular
flowers and percussion prettily rattataptapping like green spirals in
half-hearted insufficiently long responses?  Ramshackle excuse for violas
playing polka.  Help!  I'm being...Me too! 

Meanwhile, in Tunisia, the cavalry prepared spaghetti marinara, while the
depressed strumpets were depressed, obviously trying to avoid the silly
mouse in a silly looking hat, with "Grexhat of Champions" in permanent
marker by the 49th parallel.  Of course eggplants never did make rainbows
go straight.  So fearfully they walked, that the bend-police may not
approve.  Unless something changes, Norway didn't like funny looking
people saying things in threes. But our sunny minty-fresh hero with
transparent suspenders proceeded to excommunicate the pope and stretch an
owl backwards into misty pink-spotted tulips.  With bad hair and teeth.
Leonard Nimoy sang loudly while brushing his gnarly underfed and yellowing
bananas.  Which didn't do much for th'rest of us.  Uneducated Tibetan yaks
are making tea from all the sand which is worse than Snicker's.  And why
do pigs fly?  'Cause...methane.  'Nuf said.  It is never enough to yodel
while you're pissing.  "Who me?" yelped Jimmy Hoffa, as Transsexual Smurf
omitted one word.

Purple flying dachashounds can't even spell words like "my parents suck!"
Caitlin, feeling bitter, destroyed several cities like Godzilla on a
sucky-parent rampage Across New York.  Meanwhile, in Boston, a conspiracy
was broiling mightily, as a pot-roast would.  As it broiled, I slept.  And
when the Neapolitan pigmies danced, I awoke refreshed.  Stark got dressed,
while talking to his bomb detector.  But unfortunately, George of the
Jungle was not eating Bananas today, but instead, pickled mooses which
were in his refrigerator ate peanut butter sandwiches that were washed in
order to wear with suspenders.  But enough about George.  Let's discuss
Ernest Borgnine.  He wasn't Imelda Marcos.  Neither was he George.  George
was.  I, however, ain't.  That is why we like oranges.  Unfortunately,
we're out.  So's Imelda.  Pity.  And George.  But I thought not, in any
underdeveloped, underground, underworld sort of way, which was known to
cause vomiting.  In lab rats, but only when people in Vermont don't send
mail.  Guilt trips are Silly. So we triple purpy babies and send e-mail
which floccinaucinihilipilificates the big honkin' words that talk funny.

Eat my shorts, and drink wine, but never touch meat on Fridays.  Unless,
of course, you're a cow.  "MOO, MOO, Spat, ", quoth the cow.  As the truck
hovered, the cow ran like hell into a brick Out-house, that was making
funny war cries; Xena appeared from nowhere with a blazing sword and
excessive words did he smite in women's' clothing.  Which was suprizing
because drag isn't worth the trouble.  "Oops," said Peter, as his niece,
named Denise, grabbed her greased fleece and beat a
floccinaucinihilipilificating, owl-eyed patron of the belated responses
which have nothing to wear to the disco.  Now what will we do with Grover,
or will we speak of better turnips in future times? 
"MY LIFE SUCKS!!!!," yelled the turnip, with angry vehemence.  Sheep are
pretty so God smited them.  Good, if you're pissed off and know Tom.  Tom,
though silly, is also blue from cold and becomes less silly with each
passing tick of the hands on a doorbell. Why don't we get wasted?  Ask the
cat, he looks smart.  But dumb cats are even more inclined toward "noxima"
than eggplants.  Defenestration of the freshmen continued, while iguanas
danced the rumba in their undies .

Meanwhile, I had no idea that penguins had teeth, but they do! Lest we
forget, he reminded us every hazelnut has two sides: an inside and an
exciting candy coating.  Yum Yum!  Just add to recipes one pound lard, one
large toucan, and a peppercorn.  Stir with a mallet.  But Elvis, your
friendly neighborhood weasel does _not_ appreciate being described as
ugly, fat, or smelling like cheese.

...  To be continued...

449 responses total.

"Im gleefully paranoid!"

said Windle Poons,

<This reminds me oddly of the "Illuminati" trilogy>

as he stroked

   the fuzzy lizard

   <yes, it does read like parts of the _illuminatus!_ trilogy.>

down by the

<Of course it does! ^_^ >

Sea.  He didn't

<Are contractions one word or two?>

fire 5 rounds

<I'd say it's one word.>

. He didn't eat

. He didn't sleep.

<Of course contractions are one word.  Making my personal favorite,
"I'dn't've", especially useful>

The caffeine IV

pumped.  Drip.  Drip.

He stared out

into the swirling

miasma of the

rolling waves.  Gulls

careened above his

slightly balding head.

The surf spoke

of trees and

grassy knolls by

the side of

Bill.  This was

hard, since Bill

Door had no

tangible existence. He

   was sentient vapor.

The mist coalesced

   into a tiny

blob of greenish

haze on the 

veranda of Windle

Poons, who was

ready to die.

The angel of

mercy woudn't hear 
<contractions; one word or two?  I keep forgeting>

his last whisper
<Contractions count as one word>

.  So he sat

whispering VERY LOUDLY

"I'm taking the

- Backtalk version 1.3.30 - Copyright 1996-2006, Jan Wolter and Steve Weiss