Once upon a time there wasn't any time to sleep, so I got something to eat and then went to my car to fulfill Earth's destiny.
I felt around the underside of my kangaroo underwear to determine if my dog was snug.
Reaching further I plucked two rather angry plump gerbils from my "backseat" as well.
After picking them some flowers my heart leaped out strangling an innocent gopher-mongoose.
Then I pretended I had shingles (the asphalt kind).
They have stores where specialty items such as bait, shoehorns, and farming equipment may be purchased.
You'd love smelling decomposing cauliflower on top of the pile.
Somehow my father excreted adhesive with mint swirls and candy canes, extending his probing wit he managed, briefly, to alleviate whatever cacophony was clanging to mother's beat-starved dancing coven of scantily quilted tissue that whispered sweet incredible nothingness.
Meanwhile, back in Vladivostok, Tonto the faithful cow-orker stumbled upon a dead girl, apparently murdered after losing her glockenspiel.
Poor, poor Elizabeth IV so depressed yet so unbelievably horny for her magical donkey and her electric chair.
Killed while pounding the chicken once again at T avenue across from Hardee's.
Electrocuted zombies wondered through lingerie displays touching silky nighties because their chapped bodies needed vapo-rub.
The wet spot grew as exponentially expanding until it evaporated into sheer nothingness.
Why did it change from fiery inflamed chestnuts to refreshingly dimpled golfballs?
Alas, giant Mc'Kenzie stomped through undulating waters that grinded underfoot against rocks with sharp teeth making pearly white skid marks.
Furthermore, McKenzie Buttwhacker attempted simultaneous regurgitation's of hairballs effortlessly combined with Geritol and Preparation-H to smooth his ragged sheets.
The last time someone commented about was after Hercules appeared naked, starring Shirley the Lopsided Hamster and Frederico the partially cooked frankfurter, there stood Woody and Chuckles, nervously giggling hilarious obituaries until they started wetting themselves.
Alas, Gwendolin the Chewy but Honest Manatee, floated blissfully across clouds of sea urchins singing lullaby's afar and sending melodious tones throughout the Land of the Merpeople.
"Go tell Vikings that Mama birthed a marauding dwarf parakeets that pecked her until cannibalistic midgets stomped wildly at the ants running amok."
Meanwhile, after taking two Excedrin, my head began spinning like a special banana daiquiri mixed at a high altitude, beachside while picking cotton after snorting like some addict wooter in refresh mode obliterates my keyboard's F5.
Too many words, too much ink, where have all the blank minds disappeared?
In another era, many moons have illuminated our wondrous outpost where sleeping bears roam amid vast plains of sulphur spewing forth from volcanic pinholes while galloping unicorns leap over pools of foaming chartreuse gatorade.
Leprechauns laughed hysterically while dreaming about giant shamrocks filled with marshmallow fluff and peanut butter spread flavored ladybugs, covered lentil pebbles lovingly with artichokes coated with chocolate syrup, and sour pickles sprinkled across every dish.
Eventually a herd of ravenous strippers bumped, grinded and sliced their turnips into vast cauldrons of thongs.
Stirring in more herds of dancing strippers with yarn orbs for clothing, Gwendolin quickly crocheted a tubular blue tool that pranced around my fingertips like the gentle flutter of rabid butterflies.
I smelled my feet. "Wonderful" I exclaimed through my left front nostril. "Why did I Join the Circus, I can't even flatulate without wetting down my leg. I love sniffing paint.
Visions of grander never worked and listening to armpit melodies seldom relaxes inquisitive unicorns. But, sitting, grunting or rocking, just couldn't unwind cramped into velveteen baskets.
So pink elephants danced upon pinheads while angels urinated into golden fleece locomotives. This delicate process moved prostitution up over the clouds.
"Squat on the pot" yelled Father Christmas, "Halloween is closing in".
"But no Mother, I don't like figgy pudding"
"Shut yer ficus, Banyan!"
"Well, no matriarchal crone deserves pie in the clavicle hole. However LeapFrog McFlippizine liked it when fairies ferried anorexic rectangles across the spherical canyon beyond all intergalactic imaginations. However, too many pickled "Peter's Peppers" picked in pale ale will certainly not sterilize urine sufficiently enough to surgically remove warts from platypus rectums.
"Rectums!" Yelled the Mod baiter.
"Probation, penguins, and pulchritude" replied Gatzby, whilst d'name shalt obliterate all objectionable last posteriors. Butt cake pantyhose are tailored specifically towards people who enjoy tostadas with gravy and horseradish.
"What?" inquired the mole who constantly questioned morality with intent to deliver sheep in the proximity of party favors."Where are my bikes? They are made for childish imaginations and corrupt political officials."
Abbreviations for states beginning with "Y" were really inappropriate, convoluted equations that perpetuated gophers to dig.
This was to encourage failing a sleep study in Europe so that gophers could recline comfortably while sipping Mojitos. "Refreshing, I can't find my bloody knickers and lounge jacket. Where should he look for a pound of cake with frosting? Maybe, the gigolo would strip paint from tarnished wood. That could have been saved without the cops getting wet, but that is not why they did it. No prankster would consider touching his wooden tooth without first washing both testicles vigorously with ScotchBrite and cheesewiz. Sterilizing urine hardly makes sense, because urine isnt unsterile when excreted quickly.
"Vibrators tickle when applied liberally against kneecaps that exude purulent pustules prominately" he said.
"Borborygmus!" said he, whose flatulence reeks of graded papers. He never cared much for others' clown noses, and fraudulent circus clowns vomit rainbow brite lethargically into buckets of creamy bisque. Crunchy bits of fried parsley don't baste well enough, so you need to preheat bat guano topping instead.
"Where did all the jelly I ate yesterday go?"
"It's stuck on top of Englebert Humperdink's big, symbolic representation of foot lint," he barked robustly.
"That's the first animal Jason wanted to accuse of violating with Ceiling cat, because that offended multitudes of other wooters. Like that spewing spruce tree that droops down to your wrinkled kneecaps' beards. Something dark, horny, hot and heavy clambered within reach, turning heads this way before it attacked.
Suddenly, I dancercised while Roombas sucked lentils from my nostrils like bees with giant stingers covered with napalm. After much consideration, the
Paper Napkins on the Edge of Insanity
You can call me Goddess, that's fine.