Toadfish Monastery

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite poker chips.

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite poker chips. Nonetheless Emilio

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite poker chips. Nonetheless Emilio rescued her

am i glad to see Emilio back!

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite poker chips. Nonetheless Emilio rescued her sorry posterior

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite poker chips. Nonetheless Emilio rescued her sorry behind from looming

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite poker chips. Nonetheless Emilio rescued her sorry behind from looming a tapestry

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite poker chips. Nonetheless Emilio rescued her sorry behind from looming a tapestry laden with

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite poker chips. Nonetheless Emilio rescued her sorry behind from looming a tapestry laden with barnacles and

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite poker chips. Nonetheless Emilio rescued her sorry behind from looming a tapestry laden with barnacles and ice bergs .

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite poker chips. Nonetheless Emilio rescued her sorry behind from looming a tapestry laden with barnacles and ice bergs. No one

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite poker chips. Nonetheless Emilio rescued her sorry behind from looming a tapestry laden with barnacles and ice bergs. No one could fathom

Chapter Seventeen
---------------------------

Wednesday morning never arrived. No-one took any notice and no work occurred. While no major catastrophes were avoided, several parakeets soiled their imaginary trousers after witnessing no particular good reason . Absent a decent wash, no avian feather donor would donate. Therefore no descent into the nest was even partially recommendable. Instead Jack refused to shout his BarMitzvah speech he hadn't the stamina to write. The hostess lifted her skirt to muted applause from Rabbi Hype Orcrite, Kill-Joy Extrordinaire, Graffiti-Artiste Par Mundane, who couldn't string his thoughts together without belching loudly, the eardrums pounded with jellyfish tentacles wrapped around rice.

Jack, the Professional hijacker took an umbrella stand without the owner having a clue that Russian spies were not on board the tram. Neither were as close to Ipswich as Bishop Bolton of Ulm, who would not say it was Wednesday even if toads flew.  Rivets jumped skyward, propelled by laxatives.  It rained rubber chickens when live cockatoo cocks paraded past Corporal Himmelstoss frogs. Nobody was surprised.

The Rabbi was still washing his balloon pants in the imaginary well while contemplating motorcycle art. The stains on the new chap's magic underwear glowed brightly. Jack ducked a moment too soon, an apple spun lazily round the washing line, moved past clapping fans and climbed mole hills for cash. His mother, Ethel Autumsmere, had hoped to become a pillar of salt but lost her shaker filled with the requisite poker chips. Nonetheless Emilio rescued her sorry behind from looming a tapestry laden with barnacles and ice bergs. No one could fathom the depth