Ninety percent overproof if the tooth be known. My Hovercraft explodes with delight. Do you mind if I anaesthetize your parrot? This is not a wine for drinking, this is a wine for laying down and avoiding (feathers everywhere, not from the wine! what are you talking? and certainly not from pillows either, they wouldn't squawk so much but nooo! You wouldn't let me anaesthetize the parrots, let it lie heavily on your conscience) or inserting straight to the temples with probe wires, how else are you supposed to channel so electrifically potent an ultra-juice? Did I say that and if not, why not? Maybe you said it and it just came flying out of my mouth like lightning out of a junebug.
Hate the sight of a black pudding, slash an Atari st; just don't jiggle with a pillowcase. Have you understood nothing? Pillowcase! I told you it's a parrot fight you can hear them squawking loud enough and not only that! they've bitten more than a few fingers. Toes? I wouldn't put it past them if they could reach that far from their perches and if you want to peer that closely with nothing but thin air, bare and empty space between you and their fierce psiccatic beaks, it's on your head or out of your socket as the case may be. There's no going back you know, they've tasted blood and its spoiled them for ordinary parrot food forever. Carnivore? zombie? I call that melodramatizing: let's just say they wouldn't hate the sight of a black pudding.
I'm hyperactive-I think I'll slap Yogi Bear. You might call it Barbaric, but I think more Hannatic. Silly furry feathers! They'll wreak us all to Havoc, watch out for those bills especially.
I'm a level 5 cemetery gate in magician world. I've got a magic poodle and everything, it's made of only the highest quality balloons. Who said that? just keep in mind: ventriloquism is the lowest form of magic, as puns are the lowest form of rumour. One man's void is another man's prism. Power accumulates, I'm ironwork after all, and subtle force, my patterns as delicate as filigreed lace. I'm a little worried about the possibility of a surgical strike, it's in the rulebook under "Cleansing the gates of our perception," which speaking as a gate not a door is a lousy idea if I ever heard one and a misquote to boot. What can you do if you live in a shoe? Move to a boot and get laced. Gates don't have mouths, not officially, or I'd start hitting the hooch-but there may be a hatch they don't know about I could use to poor it down. You are the most chunky tree. Goodbye!
I want you to pick up BBC Radio One on your Christian prostitute until it's stained, could you do that please? What do you mean what does she have on? Nothing but the radio obviously! Who had it off with her? The Zambesi Bishopric Fund at their annual convention. There were reasons for this; they concern neither you nor anybody.
Apparently Abraham Lincoln and Daffy Duck never make wine out of party poppers. Party poopers! What kind of fun is that unless you can make headier wine of soliders, Union/Confederate say or Eider/Mallard.
I wish I wasn't spineless . . . spinier the better in point of fact. Stickleback. Any kind of cactus except I'd like arms and legs to go with it (that would be radical); Starfish, plenty of feet there with suction. Extrudable stomach in the mouth, just what you need if you want to engulf prey. Anus up top among the spines, dispelling waste bubbly into the water above. Sea urchin, brittle star, crinoid. Don't think I'd like to be sea cucumber though, sounds pretty anti-rad. Seahorse for sure but in any of these events I'd need to be able to live and breathe under water. Failing that? Porcupine, hedgehog, thorny devil there's your basic cactus with legs. King Crab. Spiny turtle. Dreams of the invertebrate, restless to evolve. Squishy dreams, wet dreams, they need a horn to hang on. Plunge. Pull-unge.
Electro-stim potations in every hand? You! no exceptions, there are no twelve step programmes this celebratory eve. Hoist! Converse!
"Your mother was a lathe and your father smelled of lifts."
"Would you like a bulbous miller?"
"Now now boys! Don't fight over extant translations, there's plenty to go around in any language."
"We'll fight over descant transitions if we want? Who are vous to intervene?"
"I wish Hong Kong Phooey wouldn't dissect my water buffalo."
"I have no response to that, not even a resonant echo."
"How can somebody so steel-plated get completely confused by impossibly shaped ants?"
"Get's an ugly worm in this subtext. Catamaran would be profferable or instamatic."
"I'm paranoid-I'd better not pluck Hansel and Gretel."
Apparently many tubes will make a plague victim shout whales. Which is pretty fair-sized, but imagine if it made one shout Wales. Smallish country, but humungous if it happened to be a unified living organism and where would you put the fins? I know Finland's fairly nearby. . . Think about it, you'd need many many tubs, too many for deployment on any but a global scale, to make any sort of victim shout Wales. Or a good-sized pond, practically speaking I'd say at least a bay. Wales doesn't happen to be a unified living organism perchance? That would be a shocker!
I've an eight-legged cop-actually a well-stocked precinct, but that's a close-guarded secret. Team Octo, perhaps you've seen our reality series? You can't escape the long arm of the law and if you do there are seven more just like it to foil your every move into anything but custody. Just a moment: state secret? reality series? something doesn't quite mesh.
"My capybara is full of sluggish rice cakes! Please sing a merry song about my plectrum."
"My plectrum plucks and strums, indifferent."
"My Hovercraft is covered with eels."
"Jacuzzi's filled with ice-chunked water"
"Wonder how the frosted faucet feels?"
"It's cold inside my plectrum and outside the universe."
"That's a very tricky line to follow."
"Is there rhyme reason rhythm to the music of the spheres"
"Or is every note it sounds a resonating hollow?"
"They are born, run on the cheese back and forth, and one day they're dead."
"I put an ad in the paper for perfect bombs. In retrospect, I can see I should have coded the message somehow."
"Wisest to Google anything like that-plenty of Internet info hanging about-only not too often in one twenty four hour period. They monitor Kapuskasing in a blanket, odds are they monitor you."
Beware the greasy broadsword! It slices like a column of rigid slime. Hard cutting slime, like steel-tempered suet or lard at best, shrapnel-ready swamp gas at worst. Explosive, propulsive, seeping through walls before muscularly blowing up whatever's inside. Oil fried confections fire off and ricochet in all directions. Donuts and pastries with reactive unstable cores and outer shells firm as molybdenum.
My corkscrew's footstool looks like a serious toilet seat. Defective (infective?) at the very least ineffectual prioritization. Thought whirls down the coiling brain to its stem; time in its likewise spiral plunges to plumb undiscovered depths, turgid, squishy-cloacal is our public course and discourse both. Swirl, loop, loop-squiggles of intent on page.
"My mother always told me never to buy crown library tickets. Even more fatal to invest. I have evidence that you snack upon mineral deposits-good for the complexion perhaps, but capable of misconstruction if offered up in magisterial court. Nobody's issuing writs against candy wrappers these days, but don't be fooled. Silver or aluminum foil remains a dangerous proposition, especially in quantities large enough for distribution. And if you're wonder what constitutes proof in a court of law these days, bear in mind there are vanishingly few judges left who are proverbial, and a hungover judge is a hanging judge-worse still if they're never off the fortified sauce long enough to be hungover. Electric current and a rush to judgment-never a good combination. It's a woolly world with hair on the chest and back! Rulers! three of them! all of them polite! Competing on the reality series King for a Day. My mother told me it's the polite ones you've got to watch out for."
"That's easy for you to say."