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The perspicacious side of the planet

Wienerschnitzeled on July 24, 2005.

On Monday I met a man named Karl Winerboffer, and asked him about the Englebee Troobles. He told me of a woman who kept one as a pet in a triangular briefcase. I thanked him, snorted out my nose, and rolled on by.

On Tuesday, I visited with one Ravna Olegg-Thorssondóttir, who had very nice feet. She showed me the triangular briefcase, and the Trooble within—alas, it was a Jørgenssen Trooble, not the coveted Englebee variety. I snorted out my nose, praised her for her astoundingly beautiful toes, and rode away in a hose with my fedora askew.

On Wednesday, I lay in bed all day with Englebee Troobles on my mind and my mind on a silver platter beside my bed.

On Thursday, I did something. I forget. Might have involved a lot of heavy intoxication. Didn’t find any Englebee Troobles yet. Nope. Drat and dash.

On Friday, I traveled to the other side of the planet (the perspicacious side) and danced a jig on the back of a Levantine horse, then fed a punch-card reader a pile of old Bibles and burnt-out gooseflesh motorcycles from southern Caledonia. This had something to do with my hunt for my squirrelly prey, but I forget what—it might have been something that came to me in a vision of auk and bison on Thursday.

And on Saturday, I went to plee plaugh wakha woogle borfity-skoo, morpson and diddle and forbity-goonk. Waggle-daggle ding dong, and goosey koosey koo, waggo backo Jacko and diggery-sfphoo. Ångly-bangly and borfle my tittle, wank-a-doodle-do and Geri Halliwell’s toes in the middle. My name is Phillip Norbert Årp, yes, with two Ls and a little spingly-bongle over the A shaped like a circle, and I really must go fetch the cow over the Moon pie and hot diggity dog!