There once was a very old man who said, ‘Over this gate jump I can.’ He got a good running start. Then attacked him his heart. That hadn’t been part of the plan.
Larks perch on my pillowcase. Eels occupy my shoes. I’ve nothing further to report. There is no other news.
Stonehenge, wherefore wilt thou dance dwelling in England, not in France? On solstice day to don your stockings would gain you naught but random mockings. Therefore, Stonehenge, bide your time. To bathe in thought is not a crime.
The board certified gnat conferred with the studious rat. First they hemmed. Then they hawed. Oh, for hours they jawed ignored by the mercantile cat.
There was a young lemming named Morris who drank from a glass awfully porous. His thirst wasn’t quenched, and his vest remained drenched while he stoutly sang bass in the chorus.
an isosceles triangle wearing a hat is nothing at all to be ever sneezed at. it should be respected and offered some tea, lauded and coddled and placed in a tree. and each day at sunset a trumpet shall sound reflecting the answers to questions not found.
oh the chain its serpent shadow hints at the captured horror lurking beneath the tranquil surface of the lake
one side makes you larger the other makes you small if you ingest too many you’ll slide a waterfall while on the spiral wall forever in a ball of sparkle
behold turkeys not seen the bent fence trots by the yellow serentiy of phantoms breeze shivered waiting
while suffering the wrath of mome i wandered far away from home i hopped aboard a trolley car and hopped off at the nearest bar in palsied hands i gripped the glass ‘what’s wrong, old sock?’ said Darla Bass ‘the wrath of mome,’ was my reply she fell back stunned and turned to fly departed […]
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
