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VOLUME y0R - CHAPTER ♪ ♫ ♪

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Cup tape-measures combing buttons of the porcelain donkey driving a flower cart. Organ papers glow like moths and visit Hell for a little while to sample the multi-colored pencils. The vase of Canadian pennies finds itself strangely attracted to the subwoofers of the tissue box god. If only there had been an alas, but alas, it had gone fishing and could not be found for three entire days.

Three entire moonstone mice stacks of books photo frames smirking taped walls with wire matting flickering giant centipede cotton balls for brains and duct tape for liver a smooth dying duck washed down with a shot of milk and pistol's breath bottled in Italy under great duress bookshelf painted ceiling collapse of Rome.

Egg shells pretty downed by docks wharf-side next of kin, singly drops in scales of waxing wanders silky windmill plastic slide bat wings belfry in the shifting feather blue or unhaps spikes green curling exotic India retreat?






NOTE: Please contribute pertinent excerpts, as I am working hard on locating and cataloging the great texts of nonsense that were lost and scattered in the Big Reasoning Plague of Ipswip, and I could use some assistance.

[Tape function: RUN]


H e l l o ! I a m n o t r e a l .

-Even worse.

I h o l d t h e s e c r e t o f t h e p e n t a c l e .

-What is the key hole?

A B C D

-What? How?

Y a y !

-Excuse me?

D E A R

-Pardon?

_D E A R D E A R D E A R
D E A R D E A R D E A R
_D E A R D E A R D E A R

-Ah s**t! Shitshitshit DeAmn it my DrAnsmiisisEoR !!! D
R E A D E A ithinD i
_D E A R D E A R D E A R
D E A R D E A


[END Tape function]

I don't know what's going on, but I like it.

Thirteen days after the rbbldbblr arrived with its clean-up cup, the placid acid evacuation station yet smelled like fish.

Meanwhile above and beyond the sight of trouble arriving toting bland buckets of sorely distilled used rainwater, a bold blue banner declared 'THIS SAID.'

Elbowing its way slightly backward, rbbl declared, "THERE SHALL BE A PICNIC."

The cup, it placed upon the ground where all space necessary to reclaim unfrozen tenacious turmoil could be found.

The guests began appearing, one by three; as the claxtillacious custom had fortuitously declared, no head was spared the dripping of the sap from yonder tree.

"What then?" said she of the Legends, who had come to tend to undone minions of powerless pentacles painted red.

But no proximitous voice resounded other than the timeless chiming of the purple clocks within her plastic head.

And thus the waiting did commence beside the rambunctious fence while the fated fares of dying dogs warmed the souls of fallen logs cast apart from intemperate innocence by the effervescent scent of sillyfish

4laugh