|
mcdougall
|
A gargantuan toe licking up the spit that oozed on out of the dead poets lips. It was the sleuth that was the guilty one for the case was far from closed and the clues were drying up so with failed attempts at digging up the dirt to catch the crook, our sleuth began to plant his own clues, and became a gardener of lies. They grew into an ugly mess that was dark and think and stinky and it was our late poet who stumbled on the foul tangles. To put it lightly he poked around and was soon able to see through it and then uncovered the wicked sleuths plans of dishonest work. With a threat of vocal honesty and good doery the poet in his final act tried to stop the sleuth but in vein for the sleuth was fast and planned ahead and quickly took care of the blabber. But here is where the beginning was and here is that big toe, still licking up the expired spit, and now leaving with the expired poets last words in toe, for mixed in with the poets spit that the big toe drank so freely was the truth behind the sleuth and the truth was very unnerving. The toe went fast to the chief of police and quickly retold the tale of the sleuth and the poet of witch you now know so well. In the end all was well and poetic justice triumphed again.
|
070827
|
