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Soft, and steaming lightly

Castigated on July 31, 2005.

I climbed a hill today, to meet with a man who claimed to have the last Englebee Troobles in existence! His name was Richard Dreckers Sr., the grandfather of the very Samuel Dreckers that killed my dearest brother Grårp, and whom I killed over a cup of tea and strumpets. I didn’t tell him about Samuel (obviously! cetaceously!), but only asked him if he really possessed the last Englebee Troobles on Earth. But for the threat of returned eigenfactors from the eigenfactory and renewed fighting over the benefits of a platitude, I would have shouted to the winds about parsimonious strudels and hamstrung carbuncles. I was that euphoric.

He said he did have one. Vendaciously, he showed it to me, and bodaciously, did I look upon it. And, mendaciously—

It was black—black as coal. It was as big as my head! It was soft, and steaming lightly.

It was a big pile of squirrel dung.

I asked, This is an Englebee Trooble!? as I turned pale and slithered lithe porcupines from my effacious pores and visions of garden gnomes danced in my cranium, writhing. The screaming stars had been opprobrious and cretaceous all along. The flying pi: Tantric.

He answered yes.

I went, “Fnaåaåarrrpp…” and passed out.