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paste!
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i came alive in the boat of fronds, the wild cherry latitude dumped my fuming nightmares into a pollinated solemnity which ate it, giving me diamonds, barking poles for balance, some dangerous woks i kept on my noggin.
what you believed was a slav was a valentine, what you insisted was a fine grape jelly was a pair of aces.
several sharpshooting and microwaved swans hunted me like i had something crucial to them, but i was naked and vapid, i had nothing of value, so i kept on living. although they had eyes the color of aluminum gatorade, my peregrines were not as mesmerized as i and led them off to the nearest apricot complex, with authority.
but it didn't cure the constant arriving in the middle of something tense and ferocious.
the parsley century was coming to a beginning and i was a sprig of thyme. my time was nearing its end, so i made the choice to become a fragrant very important manifesto taped to a tortoise who needed to get from oregon to nebraska without the assistance of aircraft, wagon or backpack.
assisting a strapped-for-time tortoise by transporting it in a backpack was a common occurence in late 1870's wyoming. sadly, all evidence of this behavior was wiped out by the great avocado storm of 1901. they just never got time to write all that down either, for in 1902 the entire continent of north america was eaten by a tarantula. of course, this too became just another silly myth, once sir_pepcid_acdc became the official 20th century historian and got his stories out to the conscious types. the conscious types eventually took those replacement stories to be of higher relevance and that's a simple, stripped-down version of how certain highlights of american history came to be forgotten.
nevertheless, the pair of slavs that made you a pb&j sandwich but gave it to someone else were found hiding in the part of the hospital where they keep the back-up doctors, in case the regulars break. holy sinus, i'm a cop.
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