Two word story

[Swatopluk]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their

[Griffin]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in

[Swatopluk]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden)

[Aphos]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden), sunbathing at

[Swatopluk]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden), sunbathing at dawn by

[Aphos]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden), sunbathing at dawn by the shining

[Swatopluk]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden), sunbathing at dawn by the shining emerald sea

[Bluenose]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden), sunbathing at dawn by the shining emerald sea whilst watching

[Swatopluk]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden), sunbathing at dawn by the shining emerald sea whilst watching their savings

[Griffin]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden), sunbathing at dawn by the shining emerald sea whilst watching their savings being stolen

[Swatopluk]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden), sunbathing at dawn by the shining emerald sea whilst watching their savings being stolen by devious

[Bluenose]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden), sunbathing at dawn by the shining emerald sea whilst watching their savings being stolen by devious troglodyte interlopers

[Swatopluk]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden), sunbathing at dawn by the shining emerald sea whilst watching their savings being stolen by devious troglodyte interlopers on velocipedes

[Aphos]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden), sunbathing at dawn by the shining emerald sea whilst watching their savings being stolen by devious troglodyte interlopers on velocipedes.  Very few

[Griffin]

Verily, my elephant forsooth raced by on a mission to Outer Magnolia without realising that speeding antelope would impede his ability to overcome the passing lane's camber without inexplicably becoming rather dizzy. After taking bogus directions from a deranged owl, he began to spiral outward over the hills while contemplating harmonic reverberation therapy for ingrown chakras.
Content with the results of its elaborate plan said owl hooted happily ever after causing a fairy's tail to change colour from subtle shades of azure to neon before it began to spasmodically oscillate like a racoon that had eaten sex toys left over from a conference about furry fetishism amongst erudite cancer survivors with laryngitis and sore knees.  People of that ilk were not overly mindful of their dental payments before February 30th.  Looking forward with ears all pointy and fluffy and dyed very dark in a vibrant shade of lilac, Mortimer thought about retirement when the trumpet sounded, but decided to enlist military buglers for a glorious heist. But, vexatiously, all buglers collectively bungled the bugaloo contest by dropping dead during daylight robberies on Ruminant Road.  The worst of the Times articles concerning abominable bugling, published in late geologic time (around 1850) showed that antedeluvian bugles sound exactly like pelagic organisms in dire need of bovine serum albumin.  Meanwhile, the conductor of the Bugles posthumous choir, Morris Necron, known for his elaborate renditions of Chopsticks, began to tear the Times Literary Supplement into extraordinary shapes of miniscule lenticular and bifocal forms of semiconvex accoustical banjos.   The consequent cacophony triggered a mighty response, an overwhelming wave of army ants hellbound on acquiring bitcoin at the village idiot's palatial elephant tusks that were hollowed out to hold bucket loads of virtual but virtuous tulip arrangements in the semi ecclesiastical style of Rupert Sweetman in his vestments with purple wildebeest hide neckties donated by Lion's Club members attempting to sweeten the bitter and acerbic taunts by totally deranged Gnu afficionados.  Fans of deep fried calamari on buttered toast took their holidays in Kalmar (Sweden), sunbathing at dawn by the shining emerald sea whilst watching their savings being stolen by devious troglodyte interlopers on velocipedes. Very few elephants chewed