Cornplasters.
it's funnier that way |
|
FLOURISH.
Ahem, cornplasters.
It has come to my attention that meyon flux does not shave the taco rather it loves you long time. I have not seven lemon drink so we cannot harbor there, as the blades of flowers do not like the water and cannot dream of sugarplums being murdered in the moonlight.
BUT WHAT SOFT ROMEO IS THIS? Why, it is a fishmonger. Not a dishmonger, or a wishmonger, but your flies. Your flies open like swamp gas in the moon light, said the lady to her lesbian man. But what is this lesbian man you ask? (Why does the tomato speak to me, I have nothing to say to him...) Nonetheless, we must answer that eternal question asked by many a man and several a monkey, every hour of every day, a question to which an answer would bring peace to the lands, a question no one man has yet to answer... Where are my keys?
Where indeed. I have nonesuch of this pardon tomato yonder juliet. Oh, if I had a muffin man, his fleece was white as snow. I knew him very well, for he fell into the berry well, where he met Count Chocula and his roving band of misfit toys. But to dust came your man handle because it was a an idiot who fooled the fool into fooling with Jewel. I have caught the noodle. It barks like your fish and does not end in China.
LOUD INTERRUPTION!
Butter. It graces the still warm corpses of dinner rolls, and preserves them for their afterlife. They die for our sins, for our stomachs, our hearts and minds. And table conversation frog. He knows when you are awake, he knows when you've been bad or good so kick a penguin in the nuts. You better watch out, you better bake pie, you better have gout, I'm telling you why! Table conversation frog!
What? Say you know not the story of Table conversation frog? Blasphemy! Madness! ATHEEEEEEEEENS!!!!!!
Fine. Ahem.
One night, whilst sleeping in their orchard, a young couple awoke to a startling realization: They had made dinner. And so, they began to eat this dinner of ad and tuba, they noticed a frog on their dining room table. Small, green, and unassuming (although some claim it is capable of assumptions that is not entirely relevant right now), it sat on the table, staring at them, it's bulging eyes fixated on nothing in particular, happy narwhales robbed new yorkers, it sat. And sat.
Until, finally, some say, out of loneliness, others, revenge, he began to converse. Croak, said he, and that's exactly what the young couple did. They, and every living thing in the room still alive was turned to stone.
Some say he is not a frog, some say he is a rouge dinner roll on a mission to end the dinner roll industry's torments, others say he is a lost soul, looking for someone to converse with, but only one thing is for certain, if you eat dinner rolls, make preparations. Funeral preparations. Because he is watching. He is the green guardian, that vengeful amphibian, Table conversation frog.