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Grandma Gibbon here will clean your clock, if you are impolite, or a "slacker".

Gibbon gibbon gibbon gibbon! Don't you just love saying that? It's the sort of thing that reminds you of the feral morning air, singing arias in your sinuses, and the bats and the bears! God, bats and bears! Both types of bats, too. This was no walk around the park, this was full-fledged fledgelinghood on the hoof.

And if you're lucky, there'll be a gibbon moon[1], where the huskies go. It glints and dances off the doggie wee wee smartly, beholden to none but the Auroras, all three that are known to this writer. One contained a base, the others all lit up and pretty.

See Also[edit]

  1. Illiterate people and smurfs call this a "gibbous moon", but then they suck sweat though anodized ball peen mesh. They can go to hell right now! Right now!