Toadfish Monastery

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was an expert

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was an expert cuttle-fish fisher.

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was an expert cuttle-fish fisher. Joe Squidfreezer

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was an expert cuttle-fish fisher. Joe Squidfreezer disagreed, stating

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was an expert cuttle-fish fisher. Joe Squidfreezer disagreed, stating that beetles

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was an expert cuttle-fish fisher. Joe Squidfreezer disagreed, stating that beetles weren't receptive

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was an expert cuttle-fish fisher. Joe Squidfreezer disagreed, stating that beetles weren't receptive or retentive

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was an expert cuttle-fish fisher. Joe Squidfreezer disagreed, stating that beetles weren't receptive or retentive before 9

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was an expert cuttle-fish fisher. Joe Squidfreezer disagreed, stating that beetles weren't receptive or retentive before 9 nymphomaniac virgins

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was an expert cuttle-fish fisher. Joe Squidfreezer disagreed, stating that beetles weren't receptive or retentive before 9 nymphomaniac virgins and therefore

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was an expert cuttle-fish fisher. Joe Squidfreezer disagreed, stating that beetles weren't receptive or retentive before 9 nymphomaniac virgins and therefore a majority

Chapter Fifty-Seven and One Half

No matter or energy converter in the ship that Emilio's half-brother desired for his hijacking scheme during wedding cake blessings at Saint Pinochio's drive-in, had any accompanying manual to help him understand how to turn it upside down. This situation quickly became topsy-turvy when the she-ocelot previously mentioned in connection with the furry knickers left behind in Admiral de Ruyter's bottom drawer, under his privy chair, created a monstrous scandal among the WallwelliWinga Tribe that had less than two fortnights before the  unexpected visit of Santa. Knitted stockings filled with the she-ocelot's unmentionables hung between many of Emilio's mentionables. Yet everyone's hopes rocketed skywards on the news that there had been a not yet sullied pair among the holiday's offerings. But after much deliberation, the frilly Lily and Herman Munster decided on pistols at the fair roller coaster with only one bullet and fifty blindfolded victims. That became old quickly when diachronic bursts of temporal distortions sucker-punched the totally time-dependent weevils without any clockwork pretensions.

Vigorous but sloppy munching noises right from Emilio's left deafened the gerbils sitting on deckchairs under reinforced steel awnings. Going airborne via dirigible and Cavorite helium balloons in revenge for tainted spinach dips, the gerbils flew past Emilio's half-brother's ocelot breeding farm. Turkeys ate some sodium pentothal pellets and became dinner guests at Saint Pinocchio's Mad Hatter Tea Party. That could only mean that violent ornithophiles clashed head on with violet flavoured munchkins wearing elaborate Vegas headpieces recently stolen from transvestite heterophile misandrists and congressmen. The victims of circumstance and diayard die-hards took cold revenge, Romney's brutal electioneering habits notwithstanding, and reduced the fifth column by half. But no one cared. "Scare not the scarabs, scabby and scrappy they love thee despite their creepiness," said Mr.Cuttlefish, who was an expert cuttle-fish fisher. Joe Squidfreezer disagreed, stating that beetles weren't receptive or retentive before 9 nymphomaniac virgins and therefore a majority wouldn't be