family afternoon

The irreputation of Silas Canvernon is listed in the ninety thousand forbidden types of catnip. For the expulsion of the Doors from Arapfilon did the singing bird dismiss the Ornithonium Chorus: what a waste, I'm sure they had years of birdsong to make. Bleyvang's family sat by the crocus fields eating hot-dogs and beefburgers. Garmanhale Bleyvang sat cross-legged in the mire, watching insects interact on the pavement. Blortissia Bleyvang was tossing a trimarang around lazily, its three wings barely deflected by the faint summer breezes. Their mother, Syneschenta, sat under a Flossuary tree, eating an ollalieberry sundae and reading the inscrutable works of Paracelsus. Further in the distance, Celementhrum Bleyvang lied to the sun about his taxes, the cosmetically irrelevant third liver he had installed last week, and his general disposition. He lay on the ground, blue-green metallic sunglasses reflecting the near ultraviolet. Lazily, he turned on his radio just in time to hear a news report stating that the Vice-Arbonist of Relkekvlar had been accosted by a quasi-sapient banana. Syneschenta finished her sundae and found a trash-receptacle fungus in which to deposit the wrapping. Garmanhale seemed to be distracted by a passing steamfruit truck. Blortissia's tissue-phone rang: it was Leicesteria Wherkansky: her application to join the Muttering Thinkers of Perendrup had been approved. In the further distance, an elephantine chance-ignoring beetroot god minded the citrus lemniscates. Celementhrum sneezed, opening a can of Vodweiler, and generally ignoring the flock of catmites flying above. Then it started raining The Despicable Purple Fluid, as a result of atmospheric Mathieu function contamination, and the Bleyvangs went indoors.