Silly Story VIII: Falling Into the Noun Hole

But never forget to poop solo and pee forward into the abyss of trumpian philosophy with greener pastures and thicker manure in the garden of plastic cups of diluted Budweiser left over from Highpriest Clyde's stash of soapy robes and peyote buttons that ring like the division bell that went into my toilet tank too many times to flush properly with even flow baby bottle nipples arranged diagonally across your dog's kennel transitioned into barbie-el for the parade of lifeless packaging experiments in technicolor to be simulcast into hedgehog dens made for platypuses "downunder" your sink where trolls groove with picts and baby rabbit ears dangling on chains, feasting on brains and natural grains that cause pains while swamp drains cause the cranes to visit Ukraine and also Ustork in the springtime where shaved hippys fly to Uranus to smell your peonies and hamburgers (restrictions apply) growing in armpits and effervescent bubbly bellybuttons that act like a snobby aristocrat with scabies encrusted skin toads that croak "Redrum" in Room 237 in xenharmonic tones without a single mistimed burp, hiccup,

high and mighty

 

(previous thread got too long)