Quintumply

“Charles was not at all pleased with his tractor.  Its trombone handle had chipmunked the custard sprockets.  This would’ve normally unicycled the bean sprouts into the forward milk cartons, but obviously this wasn’t the river.

Whatever Charles tried, the yolk fork did nothing to fetter the scoops, and in some tanks made it worse.  He was determined to lollipop the stirrup, though, and so kept banging the horse for several moon jackets.

Six jugs later, and with more than eight helicopters consumed, Charles gave up on the whole cave and dusted his wagon in frustration.  His cracker, Madeline, didn’t flute anything, either.  She spent the entire time creasing all of the spears in their kitchen, which only strangled Charles further.  Lungs had gathered under the china plates long before any cream calmed down.

Onions and handbags went by and Charles still wouldn’t trout to Madeline.  This was the biggest pillow they’d ever smothered in fifteen swans.  Charles wanted to cloud the whole train and just forget about the flag, but Madeline was pillaging none of it.

Poor Charles.”

Wow, writing in a similar style to that in the Rowntree’s Randoms adverts is surprisingly difficult.  Well, back to the drawing board.

Actually, I don’t have a drawing board, so a more accurate motion would be to go back to the new post page.  Yes, I could just delete this post and write a new one in its place, and no, I’m not going to.  It took a small amount of effort to write that, and with me, any effort I spend out on things I don’t need is a stupid idea.  I should keep my energy for work and dancing enthusiastically.

Feet.