Sofa

Welcome, welcome!

Welcome to Randy's House of Sofas. Here you will find the finest sofas, varieties ranging from ugly to sweet, green to groarnge, dirty to fuzzy. And it's not mould. Of course not! Nothing but the finest here.

Oh, but you ask... what makes these sofas so fine? How are we so certain that they are the finest in the verse? Come, come, let me show you around!

Here, these... these...

Um...

Lady, cover your son's eyes! Now! I do not know how those raccoons got in, but...

Wait, don't be alarmed! It happens to the best of them, really. Hey...

Hey! Where are you going!?

Come back! It was just a sofa full of small mammals!

If rococo isn't Rocky, when is there air?

If the sofa is indeed a metaphor for the universe, then the Simpsons couch gag is deeper than cursory analysis may yield. Otherwise, rigid airships.

Intermittent jackassery notwithstanding, not with sitting either were the terms discussed at Versailles. When the antelope were bare once again before their gods, others of their elk proclaimed eclectic disgusting slurping noises, entering ones consciousness as a thief in the night, clanging "clangity clang clang!!!" against the outer desperate walls, those meninges guarding sleep, blood from braining the barrier.

Not a reef, never a reef, was said to have been said. Again, not with, nor without, standing (whether or not in a field) with friend and against foe. Like the stench, the truth is overpowering.

In his dreams, the old man has pierced ears, telegraphing all yellow cake and gamma rays. Through the barrio he saunters, as rebels in the hills ponder ghost rebels of the past. These memories are deeply buried, dust filled and booyakasha, soft as a mermaids murmur, grotesque as a Madonna performance, sublime as the chasms limit and primed to expel a sickly dankness beyond nostril, beyond sinus and throat, deeper than a lung, deep deep deep into the mind, all sharp spiky edges and acid

All the while, extinct gigantic kangaroos cavorted among the onion fields, trying to avoid killing policemen. Images of perfidy continued to interfere with Mortimers train of thought, so much so that he debarked in Des Plains and attached himself to a caravan of plastic rickshaws made from sporks

Sadly, none of the Buddhists in attendance could speak Arabic.

Each fruit was selected for its rational ability and thrown out the airlock. Picasso wept.