I’m on the lookout for something
that would equate to the latest and greatest
set of schemes for the purpose of concocting
an ever-present kind of medley (be it tuna,
musical or squash related is up to you,
o glorious reader and acknowledger of all things bulbous
(bulbous, also tapered), that’s right).
It’s time once again for the severe squid dance we’ve come to know as the contortiontella, developed by only the meanest and leanest of all pac man impersonators and founded on the principle that only hoomans may have the kind of sentience that the more eccentric among our ranks would like to imbue upon our pets. You know as well as I that only dogs have even a modicum of humanity within them, and that’s because they realized over time that the less they tore us up with their superior jaws, the more benefits they could gain from running in our peculiar packs and securing lifelong food supplies.
Got any more clichés for me today, Pinhead Ronny? I should hope not, for Chrissakes.
WHARVED 