The New Pickles!--A resumation and hexhumation
Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?
Well the new pickles of the litter got along great with me, we played tag and price and code and dead and then we all bundled up in our garters and gilt and glit and flit and kilt and were in the bin of shipping in a nonce.
The dear improprietor of me got his rotors flipping and he screwed up his balls and pitched one over the fence. Then he turned to us. "Time to roll," he hissed without any ss or zs, and flang us upwards and around the hill of us and we were seated home in a hurry and next to the dazeled pooch.
"Wuxtry," intoned the dog, and we agreed. We read all about it.
So my dear diarhhy, here you have it there. Lots of verkins and pirkers for consumption and joy. We're all getting marred this coming May. I love a Jejune bridle!
The cantankerous Hummel has made its own statement, which I here append with reduction tape:
None but the offal can control our bits / And them what finds can count the slits!
Thus we all say.
And now the bitter ants have come to consume the living of the earth.
See you ya!
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
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You know that carton of pickles in the back of our fridge, …The new pickles! --An Enthusiasm
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