Epic Mutant Storytelling, One by One

[anon33932455]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nighjtgown

[fnordius]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nightgown. I left the railing as

[Entity447B]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nightgown. I left the railing as I had found it and

[anon3072533]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nightgown. I left the railing as I had found it and instead proceeded to rail against

[fnordius]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nightgown. I left the railing as I had found it and instead proceeded to rail against my fate.

“There you are,”

[anon33932455]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nighjtgown [sic]. I left the railing as I had found it and instead proceeded to rail against my fate.

“There you are,” I screamed to Banquo, hoping

[Jesse13927]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nighjtgown [sic]. I left the railing as I had found it and instead proceeded to rail against my fate.

“There you are,” I screamed to Banquo, hoping it wasn’t his evil twin.

[fnordius]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nighjtgown [sic]. I left the railing as I had found it and instead proceeded to rail against my fate.

“There you are,” I screamed to Banquo, hoping it wasn’t his evil twin. He stubbed out his cigarette,

[anon33176345]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nighjtgown [sic]. I left the railing as I had found it and instead proceeded to rail against my fate.

“There you are,” I screamed to Banquo, hoping it wasn’t his evil twin. He stubbed out his cigarette, smiled wanly, and ejaculated, "Twin

[FGD135]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nighjtgown [sic]. I left the railing as I had found it and instead proceeded to rail against my fate.

“There you are,” I screamed to Banquo, hoping it wasn’t his evil twin. He stubbed out his cigarette, smiled wanly, and ejaculated, “Twinsets never go out of style!”

[zzzz]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nighjtgown [sic]. I left the railing as I had found it and instead proceeded to rail against my fate.

“There you are,” I screamed to Banquo, hoping it wasn’t his evil twin. He stubbed out his cigarette, smiled wanly, and ejaculated, “Twinsets never go out of style!”

“Yes?” I said with trepidation

[anon33932455]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nighjtgown [sic]. I left the railing as I had found it and instead proceeded to rail against my fate.

“There you are,” I screamed to Banquo, hoping it wasn’t his evil twin. He stubbed out his cigarette, smiled wanly, and ejaculated, “Twinsets never go out of style!”

“Yes?” I said with trepidation.

"Then why the hell are

[zzzz]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nighjtgown [sic]. I left the railing as I had found it and instead proceeded to rail against my fate.

“There you are,” I screamed to Banquo, hoping it wasn’t his evil twin. He stubbed out his cigarette, smiled wanly, and ejaculated, “Twinsets never go out of style!”

“Yes?” I said with trepidation.

"Then why the hell are your legs not covered with

[Entity447B]

Once upon a midnight queasy dank, lugubrious shadows skittered across the uneven floor of the cobweb-ridden yacht. Nothing stirred, not even a Russian oligarch. In the years since it was fashionable to dance a little bit ago, I was nonetheless moved by sea shanties. And so were my bowels.

And yet, I persisted in my quest to master the fabled Muffled Glockenspiel of Dar-Tanyon; its dulcet tones to soothe my inner rage and subdue my outer passion. I grasped the ebony mallets and I braced for impact.

After a moment of waiting, I added two more moments, making a total of three. Max quota achieved, I then plinked out Pachelbel’s Canon shakily in a Hindustani time signature. As the last note faded, I pensively reflected on the preceding few months, which had to be fifty years long. Odd; such was my distraction that I failed to notice the wretched accumulation of gelatinous fingers wriggling lasciviously inside the cabin across the passageway.

A querulous voice rose above, “Henry, is that you darling?”

The sound of chimes accompanied the swirl of her nightgown. “Yes, it’s me. New nightgown?”

“EBay, daaahling. Isn’t it exquisite?”

While I admired Margaret’s taste, something about the ensemble seemed too steampunk and too pink for such an ominous night. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief I wondered where the lifeboat – the one carrying Tallulah Bankhead (cryogenically frozen) — would get power drinks, fortified with non-GMO carbs, to infuse into her vein. After all, her body was twisted, elongated, roundabout, and humble.

Her woeful form, dashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, like her – solitary and worn down revealing decades of trauma.

So it was murder! Most foul!!

Turns out, Wikipedia was correct in at least one respect: a banana is a berry. And that proved instrumental in the banana split we ate as an unexpected light flashed on the fish finder. Behold, just look at it! It’s… Person? Woman? Man? Camera? TV?

I threw Margaret overboard to the surprise of no one. Yet deep in the depths she came up screaming, despite the Fisherman’s Friend I’d only jested to replace her with. Somehow the Pod-People, were not amused, but I laughed; leaky nitrous oxide bottle.

Yet the banana she pocketed inflated, helping her to stay afloat: just look at it! Thank goodness. USCG approved fruit! If she had really drowned I would be sore afraid of wearing my Dutch nighjtgown [sic]. I left the railing as I had found it and instead proceeded to rail against my fate.

“There you are,” I screamed to Banquo, hoping it wasn’t his evil twin. He stubbed out his cigarette, smiled wanly, and ejaculated, “Twinsets never go out of style!”

“Yes?” I said with trepidation.

“Then why the hell are your legs not covered with some kind of tweed, brah?”