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8 of 20
Sherman and Charlie always counted the chipmunk dens when they entered the meadow.when Charlie had said " they were not yet ready" that meant they would have to wait a few days before the Chipmunk dens were full up with scrumptious chipmunk babies that tasted like jelly beans because they looked like jellybeans.
Sherman and Charlie always counted the chipmunk dens when they entered the meadow.when Charlie had said " they were not yet ready" that meant they would have to wait a few days before the Chipmunk dens were full up with scrumptious chipmunk babies that tasted like jelly beans because they looked like jellybeans.
9 of 20
It neither mattered nor made any ration sense that chipmunk babies did not smell like jellybeans. Charlie the Beagle pondered this conundrum, exchanged glances with Sherman the cat.
Charlie said, "it's garbage day, though." He wagged his tail at his brother-cat.
It neither mattered nor made any ration sense that chipmunk babies did not smell like jellybeans. Charlie the Beagle pondered this conundrum, exchanged glances with Sherman the cat.
Charlie said, "it's garbage day, though." He wagged his tail at his brother-cat.
10 of 20
Sherman the Tuxedo cat walked briiskly to the front gate of the yard, jumped onto a balaustrade nearest the meadow's front gate.
Charlie sat panting with anticipation.
Sherman the Tuxedo cat walked briiskly to the front gate of the yard, jumped onto a balaustrade nearest the meadow's front gate.
Charlie sat panting with anticipation.
11 - 20 of 20
They all lived happily ever after.
Author's note: Begin again, friends. No worries. I had to divide the turns by the number of participants. Also I'm due for a respite from the internet. I had fun. I will return shortly. (Maybe a few days maybe a week. Idk.)
They all lived happily ever after.
Author's note: Begin again, friends. No worries. I had to divide the turns by the number of participants. Also I'm due for a respite from the internet. I had fun. I will return shortly. (Maybe a few days maybe a week. Idk.)
Charlie the Beagle was a legal eagle who hung out his shingle and then went to mingle but found himself in a wrangle with Johnny Mangle, the one-horse town's sheriff.It was a bit corny, but Sheriff Mangle said, "Howdy Pardner, What's your poison?"
For a moment, that famous legal eagle Charlie Beagle was lost for words, but then…
The dew drops fell in time to the beat of the day.
"A dew drop, you say "said Sherriff Mangle.
Charlie Beagle propped himself closer to the bar.
"I haven't made one of these since I was a filly!"
The icey shaker sweat beads of water.
Sherriff Mangle opened it with a echoing "Crack"!
The cocktail glass in place. Sherriff Mangle poured in
The Dew Drop with a long ease. He offered a garnish of mint leaf.
But Charlie Beagle was already lapping it down.
His thoughts on his next case. "Soup Bones cost a Buck" or
" the case of what used to be free ... is still free if you dig through trash."
Charlie Beagle was not happy about the name of his new case.
He nodded to the sherriff for another.
Charlie Beagle propped himself closer to the bar.
"I haven't made one of these since I was a filly!"
The icey shaker sweat beads of water.
Sherriff Mangle opened it with a echoing "Crack"!
The cocktail glass in place. Sherriff Mangle poured in
The Dew Drop with a long ease. He offered a garnish of mint leaf.
But Charlie Beagle was already lapping it down.
His thoughts on his next case. "Soup Bones cost a Buck" or
" the case of what used to be free ... is still free if you dig through trash."
Charlie Beagle was not happy about the name of his new case.
He nodded to the sherriff for another.
Charlie recognized instantly that the new case would be a five-pipe problem to solve, which was annoying since he'd given up tobacco five years before, after a warning by his primary care practitioner. That left only the violin or the morphine, but since giving up the pipe he had lost any feeling for playing the fiddle and the price of good quality morphine had shot through the roof so he couldn't afford to shoot any into his arm.>Sigh<
"Booze, tobacco, violin or dope." Charlie bemused. He was rather embarrassed to ask Sheriff Mangle for advice. After all, they both represented some semblance of the law in these here parts. The Sheriff was the vision of comfort at the bar. The bottles arranged from flavored liqueurs to rot-gut.
The saloon door creaked and in walked the local celestial, General Tso. He wore a silk dressing gown and a porkpie hat. General Tso sat next to Charlie. Charlie imagined this chance encounter to be the answer to his bemusement. General Tso owed him a favor since the Case of "a Chicken in Every Pot" he decided he would hit the General up for some semblance of opiates. Surely, he had some. He was a celestial afterall with ties to a tong known to peddle in powerful powder. Charlie reminded himself to reconsider... this was a big favor he was cashing in... when he could get high enough, indeed from sniffing the bathroom floor. I don't need it all in the arm... he mused again. I could OD. I haven't had any recently. My tolerance is low.
Charlie was a precautionary man. Maybe I just sniff out the back alley. Take in some fresh air. He paid his bill and tipped well.
He heard the off tune trials of violin students shredding their scales. The next sound, Charlie Beagle couldn't have predicted any better with or without motive. The sorrowful ministrations of one Miss Grendl Shepherd rose in phrases.. then one long ululation. "Nooo! Don't torture me with untrained violinists!" Grendl howled.
The saloon door creaked and in walked the local celestial, General Tso. He wore a silk dressing gown and a porkpie hat. General Tso sat next to Charlie. Charlie imagined this chance encounter to be the answer to his bemusement. General Tso owed him a favor since the Case of "a Chicken in Every Pot" he decided he would hit the General up for some semblance of opiates. Surely, he had some. He was a celestial afterall with ties to a tong known to peddle in powerful powder. Charlie reminded himself to reconsider... this was a big favor he was cashing in... when he could get high enough, indeed from sniffing the bathroom floor. I don't need it all in the arm... he mused again. I could OD. I haven't had any recently. My tolerance is low.
Charlie was a precautionary man. Maybe I just sniff out the back alley. Take in some fresh air. He paid his bill and tipped well.
He heard the off tune trials of violin students shredding their scales. The next sound, Charlie Beagle couldn't have predicted any better with or without motive. The sorrowful ministrations of one Miss Grendl Shepherd rose in phrases.. then one long ululation. "Nooo! Don't torture me with untrained violinists!" Grendl howled.
It was all Mr. Beagle could do not to bellow with Miss Shepherd in chorus. The spirits from Sheriff Mangle's Dew Drops were settling in. Charlie began to pant from the excess heat. He meandered past the the town hall, the newspaper, the butcher, the baker, the one horse (a memorial in bronze to Seabiscuit) and found himself at his own address, 221 and a half Barker ST. It was just past noon , he found everything in place and as it should be. Saw his violin, untouched since he gave up the pipe. He curled up next to his mate, Sherman Tux. Mr. Tux was an Olympian Napper. Just a fine snooze, and he'd ask Sherman to help piece it out for him. Who stood to gain from charging money for soup bones? When everyone knew they were free! He'd have to puzzle it out from the beginning. That was a rainy day when Miss Gimlet Poodle walked in. His partners Spade and Archer were out of town advising on a movie shoot. His Sherman cuddled in a little closer and Charlie Beagle slept. Visions of Gimlet Poodle playing cards with General Tso and Sherrif Mangle washed around in diffuse offerings from the dream time.
Chapter 8
Charlie Beagle dreamt of Pelican Briefs, Femme Fatales, Dew Drops and Gentrification. It would be over 18 hours before he woke to relieve himself, take his morning toast and tea, then circle back , three times and return to sleep. Charlie Beagle was depressed. The Case of "Soup Bone for a Buck... or nothing is for free unless salvaged from trash." was a case for amateurs. Nothing exciting. No pygmys, no hellhound on the moors.
Sherman took a bath and looked at his sleeping lover. Sherman removed Charlie from his cap and trench coat. Charlie was dog tired as such are the volatile minds of unimpressed genius. Sherman had seen Charlie like this before. The newspapers would collect. The dust would settle about. Sherman considered all that Charlie had given up recently. The pipe and with that the violin, a collateral casualty. Sherman was glad the 7 percent solutions and the celestials were out of the array of vim and vice. It had been an ultimatum for him. A case for tough love. Charlie wasn't stupid. And neither was Sherman. Charlie acquiesced to Sherman. Sherman sighed. The only other one he trusted to see Charlie Beagle in this depressed state. Was the owner of 221 Barker ST, Mr. Theophilus Merriweather, a eunuch famed for his mastery of margarita mixology. Mr. Merriweather had many names. For our purposes, let's just call him, Mrs. Hudson. He often would use his pass key to come and go between 221 and 221 and a half. To all his betters, he was known simply as "Theo" . Theo slipped in while Charlie slept. The Beagle was known for his night terrors and jealousy. The story of how Mrs. Hudson became a eunuch is detailed in "the Case of the Camel's toe.... or All Cats are Grey in the Nighttime. "
Charlie Beagle dreamt of Pelican Briefs, Femme Fatales, Dew Drops and Gentrification. It would be over 18 hours before he woke to relieve himself, take his morning toast and tea, then circle back , three times and return to sleep. Charlie Beagle was depressed. The Case of "Soup Bone for a Buck... or nothing is for free unless salvaged from trash." was a case for amateurs. Nothing exciting. No pygmys, no hellhound on the moors.
Sherman took a bath and looked at his sleeping lover. Sherman removed Charlie from his cap and trench coat. Charlie was dog tired as such are the volatile minds of unimpressed genius. Sherman had seen Charlie like this before. The newspapers would collect. The dust would settle about. Sherman considered all that Charlie had given up recently. The pipe and with that the violin, a collateral casualty. Sherman was glad the 7 percent solutions and the celestials were out of the array of vim and vice. It had been an ultimatum for him. A case for tough love. Charlie wasn't stupid. And neither was Sherman. Charlie acquiesced to Sherman. Sherman sighed. The only other one he trusted to see Charlie Beagle in this depressed state. Was the owner of 221 Barker ST, Mr. Theophilus Merriweather, a eunuch famed for his mastery of margarita mixology. Mr. Merriweather had many names. For our purposes, let's just call him, Mrs. Hudson. He often would use his pass key to come and go between 221 and 221 and a half. To all his betters, he was known simply as "Theo" . Theo slipped in while Charlie slept. The Beagle was known for his night terrors and jealousy. The story of how Mrs. Hudson became a eunuch is detailed in "the Case of the Camel's toe.... or All Cats are Grey in the Nighttime. "
Chapter 9 of 20.
A diabolical dialogue:
Mrs. Hudson : Is it possible to keep that sport entertained for more than 20 minutes?
Sherman: Shh... He's sleeping. I'll take your rhetorical nonsense as a gesture of good faith. Now, Mrs. Hudson how may I help you. As you can see I'm busy writing for the latest dispatch of the Adventures of Charlie Beagle.
Mrs. Hudson : Please, do call me Theo.
Sherman: Right. (ahem. Hoping she would get the hint and depart.)
Theo: Correct me if I'm wrong, Sherman... but you are writing about a man who writes about a man who writes about Charlie's adventures?
Sherman: I believe take one of those elipical maps out and you would be correct. (Sherman counted on his toes. A man writing of a man writing of a man writing of a man... Theo was the most confusing mercurial sort he'd ever met.)
Theo : 3 hours more before Sheriff's Saloon closes. I'm buying.
Sherman: I wouldn't mind a night cap. Let me leave a note for Charlie. He impressed his SWAK on the bed, bath and back of the door. Reassuring his bluesy beagle where he was and he'd be right back.
A diabolical dialogue:
Mrs. Hudson : Is it possible to keep that sport entertained for more than 20 minutes?
Sherman: Shh... He's sleeping. I'll take your rhetorical nonsense as a gesture of good faith. Now, Mrs. Hudson how may I help you. As you can see I'm busy writing for the latest dispatch of the Adventures of Charlie Beagle.
Mrs. Hudson : Please, do call me Theo.
Sherman: Right. (ahem. Hoping she would get the hint and depart.)
Theo: Correct me if I'm wrong, Sherman... but you are writing about a man who writes about a man who writes about Charlie's adventures?
Sherman: I believe take one of those elipical maps out and you would be correct. (Sherman counted on his toes. A man writing of a man writing of a man writing of a man... Theo was the most confusing mercurial sort he'd ever met.)
Theo : 3 hours more before Sheriff's Saloon closes. I'm buying.
Sherman: I wouldn't mind a night cap. Let me leave a note for Charlie. He impressed his SWAK on the bed, bath and back of the door. Reassuring his bluesy beagle where he was and he'd be right back.
Chapter 10 of 20
Interior: Sheriff Mangle's saloon.
Sherman ordered his usual catnip mojito. Clear rum, sugar, lime, catnip, all muddled together as if Cuba never left the fold of most favored nations.
Theo had changed into a grey silk charmeuse sheath. With dinner gloves over the elbows. It was not often he got to go out. He dressed for each occasion. Each occasion all the more resplendent whenever Theo arrived. His white mane of tousled locks groomed into a loose updo held with two decorative hair sticks each encrusted with grey pearls.
Theo asked the Sheriff for some olives. Sheriff said olives only come with drinks and pointed to the house specialty of 5olive vodka martini.
Theo batted his lashes at the Sheriff. "How does this sound, I'll take one of those 5olive vodka martinis... hold the vodka, hold the vermouth. "
The Sheriff shrugged. Theo grinned. She sucked on each olive with aplomb and seduction.
Sherman said, 'If you don't stop that Mrs. Hudson. I'm leaving. Sincerely, you cross a line."
"Oh, tut tut, Tux, you're no fun. So do you want some writing advice or not?"
Sherman closed his eyes, "I'm listening."
"You've done well so far. I like adventures in medias res.
However your introduction of the characters and locations are haphazard. Don't you want the reader to unravel the clues as we go... hints and red herrings and all!"
Sherman, "well, I find Charlie Beagle so unique a character that the audience only wants to know more about him."
Theo, " True. True." Theo began on his second olive.
"However, there are already holes in today's story. This township, for example. Why no mention of the school, the library, the fire brigade? Why no mention of you, a crack shot with an ambiguous wound? Is it in your thigh or your shoulder? And why no mention of this devil, Moriarty!"
Theo continued "before settling in to write more of your adventures with Charlie... " "why not reintroduce every character? it's a character driven plot, no?" "And all these sassy segues to dropping literary titles and the ilk. Well, it's fun and all. But really is it helpful to your plot?"
"Funny, I always thought this was a satire. With humans thinly disguised as domestic animals. Or is it the other way around?"
Sherman felt drunkenness undo each of his senses. He floated above the one horse town. It seemed no matter where he looked Theo's green eyes glimmered back at him. He saw 221 1/2 Barker ST where his boyfriend snored lightly. He landed in the freshly turned blankets he sank his whiskers into Charlie's shoulders. Sherman soon forgot about the glittering eyes. He forgot how he made his way to bed. He didn't care. Sure. Sure. The usual suspects, a voice over, more sturm and drang. But he could care less. The verisimilitude of the days mattered not a bit. Charlie and he had made it this far with forgiveness and gratitude and a ream of rough drafts.
Interior: Sheriff Mangle's saloon.
Sherman ordered his usual catnip mojito. Clear rum, sugar, lime, catnip, all muddled together as if Cuba never left the fold of most favored nations.
Theo had changed into a grey silk charmeuse sheath. With dinner gloves over the elbows. It was not often he got to go out. He dressed for each occasion. Each occasion all the more resplendent whenever Theo arrived. His white mane of tousled locks groomed into a loose updo held with two decorative hair sticks each encrusted with grey pearls.
Theo asked the Sheriff for some olives. Sheriff said olives only come with drinks and pointed to the house specialty of 5olive vodka martini.
Theo batted his lashes at the Sheriff. "How does this sound, I'll take one of those 5olive vodka martinis... hold the vodka, hold the vermouth. "
The Sheriff shrugged. Theo grinned. She sucked on each olive with aplomb and seduction.
Sherman said, 'If you don't stop that Mrs. Hudson. I'm leaving. Sincerely, you cross a line."
"Oh, tut tut, Tux, you're no fun. So do you want some writing advice or not?"
Sherman closed his eyes, "I'm listening."
"You've done well so far. I like adventures in medias res.
However your introduction of the characters and locations are haphazard. Don't you want the reader to unravel the clues as we go... hints and red herrings and all!"
Sherman, "well, I find Charlie Beagle so unique a character that the audience only wants to know more about him."
Theo, " True. True." Theo began on his second olive.
"However, there are already holes in today's story. This township, for example. Why no mention of the school, the library, the fire brigade? Why no mention of you, a crack shot with an ambiguous wound? Is it in your thigh or your shoulder? And why no mention of this devil, Moriarty!"
Theo continued "before settling in to write more of your adventures with Charlie... " "why not reintroduce every character? it's a character driven plot, no?" "And all these sassy segues to dropping literary titles and the ilk. Well, it's fun and all. But really is it helpful to your plot?"
"Funny, I always thought this was a satire. With humans thinly disguised as domestic animals. Or is it the other way around?"
Sherman felt drunkenness undo each of his senses. He floated above the one horse town. It seemed no matter where he looked Theo's green eyes glimmered back at him. He saw 221 1/2 Barker ST where his boyfriend snored lightly. He landed in the freshly turned blankets he sank his whiskers into Charlie's shoulders. Sherman soon forgot about the glittering eyes. He forgot how he made his way to bed. He didn't care. Sure. Sure. The usual suspects, a voice over, more sturm and drang. But he could care less. The verisimilitude of the days mattered not a bit. Charlie and he had made it this far with forgiveness and gratitude and a ream of rough drafts.
10 of 20..
(This twenty rounds rule I hope to bend. For that I offer my amends. I must return to my reading. I'm distracted and inconstant
with my attention. Apologies, such are the wayward ambitions of the poet with many muses. More stories later. Later.)
And they all lived Happily Ever After:
(This twenty rounds rule I hope to bend. For that I offer my amends. I must return to my reading. I'm distracted and inconstant
with my attention. Apologies, such are the wayward ambitions of the poet with many muses. More stories later. Later.)
And they all lived Happily Ever After:
I saw the mess but didn't clean it up. I missed the deadline because I was so tired I just couldn't move and my eyes closed while my breathing slowed and I slept. In the morning I stuffed my wallet into my jeans and just drove. I ended up at the base of the mountain. At the top of the mountain was my fated mate who would insure a lifetime of love and happiness not to mention some really scrumptious baked goods and home cooked meals. I was hungry but knew if I just ignored the hunger it would go away. The mountain path beckoned with it's low winding slope that would get me to the top without expending much energy at all but still I sat at the overlook and watched the sunset. Of course by then it was too dark to climb the mountain so I rested until my eyes closed in sleep again.
In the morning I looked out at the ocean, my bare feet in the wet sand where the tide would gently flow over my toes soothing me back into dreamland. It was too late to climb the mountain but the perfect time for high tide which came in and washed me away into the ocean deep and perfect sleep which was the best happily ever after of all.
No time for sleeping… there's still so much to do. Why do you want to climb that unclimbable mountain, they all asked, and I answered: "Because it's there." Of course, that's human arrogance, but there it is, how can one help being a human, even if one does prefer aliens with two heads and a tail?
Why would you be human when you could have a vampire or werwolf turn you into a character for a M/M Romance novel?
What a crucial question! I've always longed to become a "They say that breaking up is hard to do
Now I know, I know that it's true
Don't say that this is the end
Instead of breaking up I wish that we were making up again."
We must run away to New York City and open a costume store because there is no other way for a werewolf and a vampire to live together as a couple. Our people will never accept us in your world or mine. We are just like Romeo and Juliet except I get hairy on the full moon and you are a little bloodthirsty. Remember there are no more subway tokens so we have to make a lot of money. In our costume shop we can make enough money to afford EasyPayXpress MetroCards to ride the subways and buses.
Oh how I wish every day was Halloween.
But if we're both shapeshifters, can't we do what we like — ride the Subway for free, slip into a gay disco unseen and make whooppee wherever we like… even dine out at Lee Ho Fuk in Gerrard Street, and get drunk on Hungarian blood wine, fresh from Klingon?
A vampire is not a shapeshifter. Most werewolves only shift at the full moon. I wish you would keep up with your M/M romance novels so you'd know these things. And you claim to be a romance story writer? You must keep up with the times dear boy. And if you can't keep up with the Times then keep up with the Mirror.
Ah, but I am up with TIME, Oliver just re-subscribed to it after many years' absence from its pages, though it is a little bit like looking through a Mirror darkly… which obviously means i am not a vampire because otherwise I'd not see my reflection. Anyway, who says vampires don't shapeshift? Christopher Lee often changed into a bat.
Sir Christopher Frank Carandini Lee CBE was an English actor, singer, author, and World War II veteran. With a career spanning nearly 70 years, Lee was also known for his singing ability, recording various opera and musical pieces between 1986 and 1998, and the symphonic metal album Charlemagne: By the Sword and the Cross in 2010, after having worked with several metal bands since 2005. The heavy metal follow-up titled Charlemagne: The Omens of Death was released on 27 May 2013.[4][5] He was honoured with the "Spirit of Metal" award at the 2010 Metal Hammer Golden Gods Awards ceremony. Lee died from complications of respiratory problems and heart failure in a Chelsea hospital on the morning of 7 June 2015, at the age of 93.
Lee did not let his demise effect his work, joining American trash metal band MegaDeth in 2016 with work including the bands performance at the Queen's 90th Birthday celebrations in June 2016 . Megadeth has sold 50 million records worldwide, earned platinum certification in the United States for five of its fifteen studio albums, and received eleven Grammy nominations much of which is attributed to Sir Christopher's influence. He combined his singing and acting skills by performing in vampire costume with British bands Def Leppard, Iron Maiden, and finally settling down with Venom in 2017. Formed in Newcastle upon Tyne and coming to prominence towards the end of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal, Venom's second album proved influential enough that Sir Christopher was used as the name of an extreme metal subgenre: black metal.
[note: everything up until his death is actually true.]
That's okay… let's face it, whenever did Hollywood let the total truth get in the way of an exciting biopic? Why, I read only the other day that while shooting the famously exciting chariot racing scene for the re-re-make of Ben-Hur, the chariots of Judah and Messala are towed behind specially built mini tractors because it was too dangerous for the director with the unpronounceable name of Timur Bekmambetov to use real horses. (The real ones will be inserted by CGI, and – a cultural aside – the last Timur who came this way was not only lame but a murderous Tartar to boot.)I mean, what's the world coming too, a totally PC, lurid green, nanny state, that's what! The second version of Ben-Hur, the one with good ol' Chuck "Legs" Heston when he wasn't playing Michelangelo, wasted a whole stable of nags to film the race. Now that's what I call true Hollywood grit – don't the let the lives of a few non-voting horses get in the way of spectacle. Do you think Trump would bother about a handful of dead gee-gees if it got his a standing ovation? No way.
Way to go Hollywood!
I bid 5 no trump. What do the Bee Gees have to do with the republican headliner? I'll have to check with Charlton Heston but I don't think Australians can carry guns into the voting booth in the general election in November. The Swearing In ceremony in January is a fun event. People stand around in the cold while Donald thinks up as many swear words as he can think of and he's good at it which of course why we will elect him.
It will take some time to move all White House operations to Trump Plaza and move all other government offices into Trump casinos and other Trump properties. Of course the government will need to reimburse Trump with the going rates for his properties. He will decide how high the going rates are going retroactive to January 1st.
At least the Trumpette will be far too preoccupied with world events and dismantling "Obamacare" to be bothered with his Sottish fiefdom, so the Jocks will be able to go wild and declare war on Sassenach England again, setting all of York alight (probably on the spurious grounds that they think King Richard III should have been finally interred there rather than where he was found under a carpark in Leicester).Fortunately, due to the foresight of Hadrian, we may be able to stop the Scottish horde at the Wall, a monument of such magnificence that it will put Trump's Mexican border fence to shame.
I do so envy you the exciting times ahead, especially the standing about in the freezing cold bit, while the new Pres makes up some new jokes, or dresses up some old ones in wimmins' clothes.
Trump is very fond of nuclear bombs so if the Scots declare war on Sassenach England he will bomb it for for you of course there might be some fall out over this but Trump can take it.Trump is already ahead in his accomplishments as president. Most politicians are worried about fact checkers and don't start lying until after they are elected. The Donald, however, started out lying so he is way ahead of the game.
Speaking of game, The Donald did wonderfully with his reality TV game show so he has decided to use that game show format for his presidency.
Perhaps there is sense in his madness? If all of our leaders took part in reality TV shows, the world would be a better place – mostly because when they go into the private meditation room, they can let go of all their inhibitions and tell us what they really think.Then when they get voted out, that's when they discover they are really taking part in Battle Royal and get shot up by small kids.
Battle Royal? The Royals are fighting? Good thing they have all that armor and battle arms. I'd love to see the Queen swing a mace at a face.
When the Queens swings, you have to duck, she's said to have a powerful left hand hook and a nasty right upper cut (which comes from wielding that heavy broad sword for knighting people).
The broad has a sword and she swings it so broadly the red queen is jealous of her stroke. "Off with their heads shouted the red queen but nobody paid her any mind because I did write her name and title with initial caps. And uncapitalized venture is bound to fail. You need capital to build a capitol and fund a government. Without a government you can have crown jewels or even a crown. But with a government you can collect taxes to protect the jewels.
According to South Pacific, broads are broad where they're supposed to be berr-rroad… or is that a dame? I get confused.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZgzvT...
Roger's confusion leads to him becoming bedridden with that thing that people get that causes them to forget and get confused so they don't know where they are going when they walk into the neighbor's and walk in on lady of the house showering or when they are supposed to write a gay romance book with a happily-ever-after and they write a heterosexual tragedy. Contrary to popular belief, this disease cannot be cured by reading Lassie Come-Home.
But Lassie did get home – did you never see the moving movie as she was reunited with Laddie, and they had a bit of how's your father? Asa result, nine weeks later their son Rin Tin Tin was born and immediately swept up into the Hollywood maelstrom of grooming for the big screen. Hedder Hopper raved about his "cute furry face" and "huge, luminous eyes." Rin – as he was known to his friends like the beautiful young mauve-eyed Elizabeth Taylor – was set for the big time.
But Rin was best known for his role in the movie version of Mulholland Meatballs where he delivers meaty meals from The Deli Lama to impoverished rent boys.
Don't confuse the Deli Lama with Yoda's Yoghurt Yurt ("A Healthy Delight It Is") because both of them stand at opposite corners of Hollywood and Vine, and there has always been a spirit of rivalry. Impoverished rent boys tend to enjoy a nice meaty Mulholland Meatball but sadly are reduced in their penury to a cheap yoghurt for nourishment.Still, they like to give Rin a friendly rub as he dashes past on yet another mission.
Unbeknownst to the impoverished rent boys, Rin has been sent by Batman's butler's pen pal's neighbor's grandson (a handsome-yet-androgynous delivery boy named Skye, put out-of-commission after being injured in a tragic sky-diving accident) to do delivery jobs. Skye often resented the irony of being injured in a tragic sky-diving accident. His friends, all heavy drinkers, mocked him.
"Skye, how did you fall from yourself? Weren't you paying attention?"
"Ha ha ha, very funny," Skye grumbled.
Gradually, he spent more and more of his days at home, eating big bags of popcorn and watching old Hollywood movies on cable. His friends sucked. Rin was his only companion. He was lucky that his dog was such a good delivery-man. Otherwise, he'd lose his job.
Rin died so he glued the fur on drones and delivered juicy, meaty Mulholland meatballs to the rent boys via the "Rin Drones".
Complaint Department
Books mentioned in this topic
Lassie Come-Home (other topics)A Life Apart (other topics)
Wrath of Seth (other topics)
Wife to Mr. Milton (other topics)
The White Goddess: A Historical Grammar of Poetic Myth (other topics)
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Authors mentioned in this topic
Zack (other topics)Roger Kean (other topics)
Oliver Frey (other topics)
James George Frazer (other topics)
Italo Calvino (other topics)
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He sniffed along in zig zag streaks.
"How many Chipmunk dens?" asked Sherman.
Charlie said "8, but we have to wait. They're not ready yet."