Saturday, February 12, 2011

more random cosines for the Stalk of Graoulk

They are the stealers of dreams, the ribald opportunity cost of a frothy tomorrow, their foamy redoubtable and orange in the scene makes a man like a damned cabbage, oh, did you see? Were you there? Had you your assigned yoghurt and curcumin and riboflavin dyed ceremonial bloaking stoot? Did the Abbess of Prencep offer you some tea and pastries while the Madmarchmain band played its swansong for the everlasts and the thukdam appealers at the Cemetaries of the Green Fog? Oh, I may have pasted my text string on the Grand Concourse of the Schrelleng-Gloats and I may have abridged Stenuel Larancil's great work Methods in Ant-Farming, Volume 123, published by Saint Ardwunt's Press, New Stobbro, Calancishire, West Bluelands, in the great nation of Orpheon, and have made remarks that debrided the great Pustule of Simonk and bloagthrettes to his miss minister, but dost thy yield unregard my clean understumblings? Fortooth, a dental man and a lord of the manor had offered not thrice ducats to the teller, and the gone world unutterably didn't have the mustard message at the right point, I tell you did Salas Gran-Tranthessima have a whit or a wit by the distances? No! Like any good Arphrungian, Gran-Tranthessima made his living by doggerelwauling at the Strident Arms and the Ferestory of Blubitmas, and then his plomongaste did have a free pension to calculuate his infinite series. Oh! Whengfrunct saddened by the funereal dirges of greater Arphrungia.

1 comment:

lilah said...

This puts me in mind more of Svann-song than swan-song..