As wherelsewhere reported, snarveling protechs were fined to attend nearly every public causemaker, and the senior twankis lacks a strategy to forfend their rabbity inoculations. When asked by the mikeymouth how to respondblabber to this, Strendiman Buber said, “That’s how we like it—to snork the advantage over the drasticons and render their stewbase insoluble.”
Mayor Dipthong had nothing drastier to foretell on the subbie but his cess prickretary was furred to say, “A golfbag’s as good as a gun in a waitress pinch,” snoozing jabberly. The quotabots smiled, dahmerly excusing hizzoner’s smokesperson's tense of rumor.
On other frontages, a senior drizzle of the United Pessimists forked dark futures in an attempted derailment of overhappyizing members convinced that re-sizing may trend the weightylipoids negatively. Next to that waddle, is was lardish to preloon so vast an underbody with nary a soolick to pasture. In attrition many of of the bonetypes were snallagagging about how this coven of cows could druzzle the cupboard before even the mice could downchow.
Thanks, James. Wocky your jabber had no claws. I hates wabbits!
That interlude surprised me.
I've been revising my essay on Four Quartets the past week and have managed to clip nearly 3,000 words from it, mainly by deleting anything having to do with me and not the work at hand, those little birdwalks into Craigland long after Elvis has left the building.
Kathleen discovered a massive salamander while gardening two days ago, a green thing with brown stripes limned in yellow, perhaps the endangered tiger salamander for all I know.
He made for some excellent sushi. Afterwards we cleaned our teeth with spotted brown owl quills.
Strange how frog and salamander both have that "Is it fish or chicken?" thing going, though I think Sally was just a wee bit fishier than Froggy.
My wife made an epic of shopping today.
This is how she tests me to see if I'm really out of a depression; she becomes a bitch to see if I can take it. If that feels safe she'll usually go into a depression of her own, the only luxury she prizes above a bath.
Then maybe I'm worth it.
I'll let you know. Everyone said mad poets would never last. And here we are near 7 years together.
BTW, it's Kathleen's birthday May 18.
Here's her e-mail address: firstname.lastname@example.org
Our home address is now 41001 Comptche Ukiah Road, Mendocino, CA, 95460. Telephone: 707 937-9985
My neck hurts more than my back right now. Gotta stop.