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Thread: Three word story

  1. #801
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    Default Re: Three word story

    Quizzically, the demon known as Ratzinger, lifted his miniskirted assistant to the corporation of corrupt mud, her bishop's queen rooking the gullible of nights of porn, a stalemate of kings 'n' peasants, sharks 'n' fakirs, and whirling dervishes spinning two dogs. Kerberos was in RADIUS of saltatory CATS ACting badly while Cerberus was in three minds off Black Rock between Scylla and bar shy Cid, a dim male cephalopod sporting enormous hectocotyls.

    Moving waves at the focus of sugar island, then waves at the Black Beauty of Sugar Island whose Black Sugar caused happy nightmares using a banana and some string cunningly woven to resemble soft vanilla scented studded flagellatory acolytes of some palsied dynastic misfit with cold chisel's "Best of" blasting away forever. Now the breakfast menu at Sweethearts made Jesus Christ horny as a moose, hot 'n' juicy, "I love Lucy". In the sky a malevolent ochre gumboot fluttered blissfully, like house bricks don't enjoy swimming among yellow matter custard which I forgot to remember me among the variegated pittosporums.

    Wasted words containing spent syllables by expendable characters regarding worthless texts, such as the "Three Word Story", farrago of flatulent feculent fun for failed philosophy flailers felicitously fingering furry fiends found felching philandering physiognomists phoning far-flung friends for futile fun, frequently fooling fundamentalists, sashaying towards rhinos while aardvarks tango to a rhumba in 3:4 time unlike Daphnis & Chloe or the Simpsons pets. Annoyingly loud Rundle Street Mall touts for jeebus, while corn loops, horny as bulls, fantasize fellating god, your sperm's in the nethermost freezing, where the swelling sounds of choirs, and organs, wheezing, belching and groaning, boner aching, dangling participles just hanging around umlauts with a cute accent and aggravated colonitis.

    Life, love, and music, they are three nouns. Sex & Drugs & Sausage Rolls are Rock & Hudson (with a aitch) loved his Nabors Gym. No sperms in the pines heard the tree wise (Irish) monkeys wrenching their nuts and dried fruits, as Sultan Saladin, Meme of Malabar, Nabob of Negativism, Oligarch of Obscurantism, Pope of Paedophilia, Qu'ranic Queen, Dancing In The Dark dank dungeons of the dread Dodo docent, Deirdre Doolittle, whose deliciously deliquescent donuts dried out doing double duty during dubious, disturbing dung-distribution dances, designed delicately down dank, dirty dungeons.

    Speaking of circular (Look! A bird!) de-railing methods applied mathematically focus elliptically shaped conic sections in non-euclidian topography with raisins in the preantepenultimate gedankenexperiment, wherein gestalten lumpenproletriat eat raisins in a missing oil-flask did beseach the aforementioned bird to wax lyrical, cawing in ways reminiscent of Albinoni's "Adagio" played under water on a Theremin built for two.

    Meanwhile, Jeffrey Archer, disguised as a tall, leopardskin-clad lapdancer, came off in the outside of a pantomime horse. "If only all... #$%**&^!! politicians were "Sorry", sorry, sorry!, and easily beaten until frothy, with hopeless frugality, then I awoke to a tall duck and handsome cab with operatic tenners to spend a penny before maidens pedalling furiously on tiny unicycles with fat bottomed girls rhapsodising about Bohemian heaven for everyone wearing bell-bottomed leather chin-straps in unexpected places on plaice.

    Placatingly, plump, pleasant ptarmigans become de-rigeur when alliteration arises and benefits brobdingnagian bards' lilting lilliputian lyrics ululating unction up while wavering woefully, yet Yahoos yodelling scarily scatological sound-bites created complete cacophony disturbing dastardly ducks from foul fumblings, tremulously touching titillating lumps laid lasciviously 'mid mammiferous mounds encouraging erogenous excitement and arousing areolars, exciting ephemerally epiphanous vestigial vaginas.

    Verily, and forsooth, it verified Anne Forsyth's three-pronged attack on the Trident on Neptune's Maserati Mistral, blown asunder when it dropped its bottom end on a potato while hanging curtains in the nuddy; it was muddy, Kev was ruddy, on his selection of virginal male he had no end to meet, being hung like the worthless varmint, hornswoggled by lollygagging.

    Yes, the lollygaggeringisation neologism staggered many a neophyte linguist among cunning nymphs and mandrophonical Kharstufengelts, the ranK slugfest continued in errancy, like biblical texts and politician's promises to entrance lobsters and boggle bi-valves by osculating octopussies, squicking with squids in lime. If naughty nauseous nautiluses could cuddle cuttlefish then thespian theropods would welcome winkles, preferring poikilothermic polychaetes. "Que?" quoth Quasimodo; oo, sad quim swived in flagrante factoring sot-weed, the Maryland cook read horrid novels in squalid hovels behind the green bays, snookered by a red ball, the other being green, not easy discernible due to badly grammar.

    Aaron, a G-string, fugued by recursion, barked at the incessant whinging of the abused oboes stringing out wasps in factory-fresh banks of clanging percussion onomatopoeically: "Blissssh! Blissssh!" over Okie plains. Haggard geek muso and retired decathlete, traded "the erectile arm", a nag unworthy of backing, swaybacked and spavined, for a sleek, salacious, sensuous, substitute, swollen sex-sossidge, strapped by sequined leather, tethered, then feathered, beveled, leveled, disheveled on a kevel. Aaaah, she sighed, laughing with languid lasciviousness, flirting flagitiously, fornicating fabulously, and missing her oil-flask with rubber studded tastelessness, undressing vivaciously while Xeno yawned zanily.

    Zulu youths in photo booths mugged and gurned their plasticine like gums, waxing lycrally, intentionally misspelling tory, a moss piano and wheelie bin laden with trash and self indulgence, not self-awareness. It was overstuffed, filled with gas, and orange juice. Frozen, Peter stared at the footbag just for kicks while the bin contrarily stared back, musing on experience but baffled nonetheless.

    Phoning a friend, asking a team-mate named Kev-the-rev, the over-excited jack-in-a-box eagerly ate chicken-in-a-basket at Mamungkukumpurangkuntjunya Hill, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysilio gogogoch being closed to lexically challenged America's cup yachts by Bob Miller, while Commodores buttoned badges, engineered to shiny, polished opels.

    Cliffs and ridges, rolling with stones wired for sound got no satisfaction under the boardwalk, walking the dog a moonlight mile, around and around the last time. Mother's little helper rode wild horses on Ruby Tuesday, like a rainbow not fading away, too late to start me up The Khyber. Carry on another land where emotional rescue of James, Jacques Cousteau glowing from diving Bikini Atoll gurgled La Marseillaise, singing "Here, Rover" whenever opportunity presented a curious insight presented by Jenny, while Peter raced Phil's split pin around Cotter Dam with castellated nuts out of sheer joy.

    Division of Peter's bass hook added multiple negative numbers, integral to his repeated attempts to resurrect this three-day stale pail of pale ale on sale causing whales to wail and lob-tail, to no avail for the bale, e'en though kale as a sail, doomed to fail like shale rails in male gaols speaking in gael, as icy gales swept hale aardvarks abruptly across adrift aeroplankton, afraid agreeable aediles approach anger after announcing accounting absolutely agitated aliens.

    Buoyed by buxom blonde Bavarian bassists, Cypriot cellists challenged cerebrally cauterised chiropractors claiming concinnous connections channeled c/o clairvoyant mediums, large and smallgoods-fancying plainsmen, and tiny teddies were messily eaten stir-fried with chilli, butterscotch, and goo. Lies were told, egos were stroked, muffins were baked until their crusts turned into cats of exquisite beauty. Rich and rare, poor and fair, the muffins were a disaster.

    Meanwhile, Peter was busily attempting to upend an auspicious looking hand-carved antique he had bought from a suspicious dealer with small testicles. The antique was a nut-cracker with impressive credentials hand-carved from humpback baleen using unusable backing hemp hewn by hunchbacks both malodorous and ambrosial. Depicted upon the hairy back hoe driver's licence an embossed relief of a midget, wrestling with an obnoxious looking elephant, reminded Peter that he was robbed of his fluffy green Hippopotamus toy that his uncle had made love to. Peter always thought slowly and with steadily increasing monotonic sounds that resinated deep within his prepubescent brain.

    Nevertheless, as noted by the enigmatic Hitchens, atheism tHence itching, but nobody knows the trouble I've seen, nobody knows my sorrow. Full songs, composed by a polished musician, the beeswax softening the humming sound of squeaking leatherette microphones phallicly collapsing into an obscene gargoyle of Fisher, Hamill and Ford.

    The Prefect bent the imperfect ruler of the prefecture perpendicular to the ponderous penguin pendulously begarbed in fetching silken tights adorned by cosmetic devices. The penguin spoke, softly, and with three small aubergines tied to the end of his fascinating, bejewelled, pulsating, and shiny new - though somewhat dishevelled - reproduction of the original Venusian version which previously adorned Adonis, while hunting his absolute favourite aphrodisiac.

    Jupiter sat earnin' your anus, degraded into perdition by earthy venereal trombone blowing economist, marring, you know, a tight 'un. Diana gave art a miss, hunting an orcus with bow and arrows. And sticks her thumb up into Iapetus' nearby rear, her cool ease, oh bear on, oh feel ya, me randy and roamed a real "I owe you". The call is ringing, Haumea said, dwarfed by high yaks.

    Seriously, there was passive "A" behind Sioux City Sue's big red car as Jeff awoke to a menacing ornithopod called Dorothy who danced with wolves in sheep's pastures, barefoot and pregnant, with pauses, whiskerses, tailses and Gollum goes galivanting, having high hopes, low hanging Frodo, likely levelled lasciviously, making Mike micturate, with open abandon. Gay times were brandishing loaded magnums chock full of pecan nut pralines, drumsticks and corn. Meanwhile, Etto coped, paddling his Pop, cycling Peter's streets, dropping his chocolate. "Home!", I screamed, milking it for no gay times and crushed nuts. "You got hurt" shrilled the choirboys, running to paradise, as uncanny ex-men at work went down, under the boardwalk, down by the C and G, stringing it out, taking the Fifth, concerning the Firth, and setting forth to lead the revolution alongside Bolan's children, marking metal grooves on Jeepster mudguards befouled by ash from twin-lead wishbones, oscillating ball joints, as MacPherson struts along the catwalk dogged by the emu parade pickup which was ferreting, clad in duck pond mud with horse feathers masking a big store selling animal crackers nightly in Casablanca, at the opera. Love-happy cocoanuts called room service about the snake, with which Eve was adamant about application core issues between the sheets of Watchtower magazine Black Label edition, with A**er2E*o centrefold.

    Finally the rains clawed their way, invisibly, to men doing judo blindfolded as Master Po caught a grasshopper between hot urns of brass tacks, mumbling "Word limits!"outa nowhere, when an unexpected, sudden, rum-fuelled mutiny in Macarthur Park, blighted by sweet Williams and bounteous Christian fletchers, made in cairned pits for roasting methodists without any dancing on one's toes in Irish brogues, bastardising the creed. Hence, clear water revived all Cosmo's factory workers running through the grapevines, and up around green river-bends, down

    A call to action
    From your chair
    Is empty while
    You're sitting there.
    - Bummer Shave

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  3. #802
    Join Date
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    Default Re: Three word story

    Quizzically, the demon known as Ratzinger, lifted his miniskirted assistant to the corporation of corrupt mud, her bishop's queen rooking the gullible of nights of porn, a stalemate of kings 'n' peasants, sharks 'n' fakirs, and whirling dervishes spinning two dogs. Kerberos was in RADIUS of saltatory CATS ACting badly while Cerberus was in three minds off Black Rock between Scylla and bar shy Cid, a dim male cephalopod sporting enormous hectocotyls.

    Moving waves at the focus of sugar island, then waves at the Black Beauty of Sugar Island whose Black Sugar caused happy nightmares using a banana and some string cunningly woven to resemble soft vanilla scented studded flagellatory acolytes of some palsied dynastic misfit with cold chisel's "Best of" blasting away forever. Now the breakfast menu at Sweethearts made Jesus Christ horny as a moose, hot 'n' juicy, "I love Lucy". In the sky a malevolent ochre gumboot fluttered blissfully, like house bricks don't enjoy swimming among yellow matter custard which I forgot to remember me among the variegated pittosporums.

    Wasted words containing spent syllables by expendable characters regarding worthless texts, such as the "Three Word Story", farrago of flatulent feculent fun for failed philosophy flailers felicitously fingering furry fiends found felching philandering physiognomists phoning far-flung friends for futile fun, frequently fooling fundamentalists, sashaying towards rhinos while aardvarks tango to a rhumba in 3:4 time unlike Daphnis & Chloe or the Simpsons pets. Annoyingly loud Rundle Street Mall touts for jeebus, while corn loops, horny as bulls, fantasize fellating god, your sperm's in the nethermost freezing, where the swelling sounds of choirs, and organs, wheezing, belching and groaning, boner aching, dangling participles just hanging around umlauts with a cute accent and aggravated colonitis.

    Life, love, and music, they are three nouns. Sex & Drugs & Sausage Rolls are Rock & Hudson (with a aitch) loved his Nabors Gym. No sperms in the pines heard the tree wise (Irish) monkeys wrenching their nuts and dried fruits, as Sultan Saladin, Meme of Malabar, Nabob of Negativism, Oligarch of Obscurantism, Pope of Paedophilia, Qu'ranic Queen, Dancing In The Dark dank dungeons of the dread Dodo docent, Deirdre Doolittle, whose deliciously deliquescent donuts dried out doing double duty during dubious, disturbing dung-distribution dances, designed delicately down dank, dirty dungeons.

    Speaking of circular (Look! A bird!) de-railing methods applied mathematically focus elliptically shaped conic sections in non-euclidian topography with raisins in the preantepenultimate gedankenexperiment, wherein gestalten lumpenproletriat eat raisins in a missing oil-flask did beseach the aforementioned bird to wax lyrical, cawing in ways reminiscent of Albinoni's "Adagio" played under water on a Theremin built for two.

    Meanwhile, Jeffrey Archer, disguised as a tall, leopardskin-clad lapdancer, came off in the outside of a pantomime horse. "If only all... #$%**&^!! politicians were "Sorry", sorry, sorry!, and easily beaten until frothy, with hopeless frugality, then I awoke to a tall duck and handsome cab with operatic tenners to spend a penny before maidens pedalling furiously on tiny unicycles with fat bottomed girls rhapsodising about Bohemian heaven for everyone wearing bell-bottomed leather chin-straps in unexpected places on plaice.

    Placatingly, plump, pleasant ptarmigans become de-rigeur when alliteration arises and benefits brobdingnagian bards' lilting lilliputian lyrics ululating unction up while wavering woefully, yet Yahoos yodelling scarily scatological sound-bites created complete cacophony disturbing dastardly ducks from foul fumblings, tremulously touching titillating lumps laid lasciviously 'mid mammiferous mounds encouraging erogenous excitement and arousing areolars, exciting ephemerally epiphanous vestigial vaginas.

    Verily, and forsooth, it verified Anne Forsyth's three-pronged attack on the Trident on Neptune's Maserati Mistral, blown asunder when it dropped its bottom end on a potato while hanging curtains in the nuddy; it was muddy, Kev was ruddy, on his selection of virginal male he had no end to meet, being hung like the worthless varmint, hornswoggled by lollygagging.

    Yes, the lollygaggeringisation neologism staggered many a neophyte linguist among cunning nymphs and mandrophonical Kharstufengelts, the ranK slugfest continued in errancy, like biblical texts and politician's promises to entrance lobsters and boggle bi-valves by osculating octopussies, squicking with squids in lime. If naughty nauseous nautiluses could cuddle cuttlefish then thespian theropods would welcome winkles, preferring poikilothermic polychaetes. "Que?" quoth Quasimodo; oo, sad quim swived in flagrante factoring sot-weed, the Maryland cook read horrid novels in squalid hovels behind the green bays, snookered by a red ball, the other being green, not easy discernible due to badly grammar.

    Aaron, a G-string, fugued by recursion, barked at the incessant whinging of the abused oboes stringing out wasps in factory-fresh banks of clanging percussion onomatopoeically: "Blissssh! Blissssh!" over Okie plains. Haggard geek muso and retired decathlete, traded "the erectile arm", a nag unworthy of backing, swaybacked and spavined, for a sleek, salacious, sensuous, substitute, swollen sex-sossidge, strapped by sequined leather, tethered, then feathered, beveled, leveled, disheveled on a kevel. Aaaah, she sighed, laughing with languid lasciviousness, flirting flagitiously, fornicating fabulously, and missing her oil-flask with rubber studded tastelessness, undressing vivaciously while Xeno yawned zanily.

    Zulu youths in photo booths mugged and gurned their plasticine like gums, waxing lycrally, intentionally misspelling tory, a moss piano and wheelie bin laden with trash and self indulgence, not self-awareness. It was overstuffed, filled with gas, and orange juice. Frozen, Peter stared at the footbag just for kicks while the bin contrarily stared back, musing on experience but baffled nonetheless.

    Phoning a friend, asking a team-mate named Kev-the-rev, the over-excited jack-in-a-box eagerly ate chicken-in-a-basket at Mamungkukumpurangkuntjunya Hill, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysilio gogogoch being closed to lexically challenged America's cup yachts by Bob Miller, while Commodores buttoned badges, engineered to shiny, polished opels.

    Cliffs and ridges, rolling with stones wired for sound got no satisfaction under the boardwalk, walking the dog a moonlight mile, around and around the last time. Mother's little helper rode wild horses on Ruby Tuesday, like a rainbow not fading away, too late to start me up The Khyber. Carry on another land where emotional rescue of James, Jacques Cousteau glowing from diving Bikini Atoll gurgled La Marseillaise, singing "Here, Rover" whenever opportunity presented a curious insight presented by Jenny, while Peter raced Phil's split pin around Cotter Dam with castellated nuts out of sheer joy.

    Division of Peter's bass hook added multiple negative numbers, integral to his repeated attempts to resurrect this three-day stale pail of pale ale on sale causing whales to wail and lob-tail, to no avail for the bale, e'en though kale as a sail, doomed to fail like shale rails in male gaols speaking in gael, as icy gales swept hale aardvarks abruptly across adrift aeroplankton, afraid agreeable aediles approach anger after announcing accounting absolutely agitated aliens.

    Buoyed by buxom blonde Bavarian bassists, Cypriot cellists challenged cerebrally cauterised chiropractors claiming concinnous connections channeled c/o clairvoyant mediums, large and smallgoods-fancying plainsmen, and tiny teddies were messily eaten stir-fried with chilli, butterscotch, and goo. Lies were told, egos were stroked, muffins were baked until their crusts turned into cats of exquisite beauty. Rich and rare, poor and fair, the muffins were a disaster.

    Meanwhile, Peter was busily attempting to upend an auspicious looking hand-carved antique he had bought from a suspicious dealer with small testicles. The antique was a nut-cracker with impressive credentials hand-carved from humpback baleen using unusable backing hemp hewn by hunchbacks both malodorous and ambrosial. Depicted upon the hairy back hoe driver's licence an embossed relief of a midget, wrestling with an obnoxious looking elephant, reminded Peter that he was robbed of his fluffy green Hippopotamus toy that his uncle had made love to. Peter always thought slowly and with steadily increasing monotonic sounds that resinated deep within his prepubescent brain.

    Nevertheless, as noted by the enigmatic Hitchens, atheism tHence itching, but nobody knows the trouble I've seen, nobody knows my sorrow. Full songs, composed by a polished musician, the beeswax softening the humming sound of squeaking leatherette microphones phallicly collapsing into an obscene gargoyle of Fisher, Hamill and Ford.

    The Prefect bent the imperfect ruler of the prefecture perpendicular to the ponderous penguin pendulously begarbed in fetching silken tights adorned by cosmetic devices. The penguin spoke, softly, and with three small aubergines tied to the end of his fascinating, bejewelled, pulsating, and shiny new - though somewhat dishevelled - reproduction of the original Venusian version which previously adorned Adonis, while hunting his absolute favourite aphrodisiac.

    Jupiter sat earnin' your anus, degraded into perdition by earthy venereal trombone blowing economist, marring, you know, a tight 'un. Diana gave art a miss, hunting an orcus with bow and arrows. And sticks her thumb up into Iapetus' nearby rear, her cool ease, oh bear on, oh feel ya, me randy and roamed a real "I owe you". The call is ringing, Haumea said, dwarfed by high yaks.

    Seriously, there was passive "A" behind Sioux City Sue's big red car as Jeff awoke to a menacing ornithopod called Dorothy who danced with wolves in sheep's pastures, barefoot and pregnant, with pauses, whiskerses, tailses and Gollum goes galivanting, having high hopes, low hanging Frodo, likely levelled lasciviously, making Mike micturate, with open abandon. Gay times were brandishing loaded magnums chock full of pecan nut pralines, drumsticks and corn. Meanwhile, Etto coped, paddling his Pop, cycling Peter's streets, dropping his chocolate. "Home!", I screamed, milking it for no gay times and crushed nuts. "You got hurt" shrilled the choirboys, running to paradise, as uncanny ex-men at work went down, under the boardwalk, down by the C and G, stringing it out, taking the Fifth, concerning the Firth, and setting forth to lead the revolution alongside Bolan's children, marking metal grooves on Jeepster mudguards befouled by ash from twin-lead wishbones, oscillating ball joints, as MacPherson struts along the catwalk dogged by the emu parade pickup which was ferreting, clad in duck pond mud with horse feathers masking a big store selling animal crackers nightly in Casablanca, at the opera. Love-happy cocoanuts called room service about the snake, with which Eve was adamant about application core issues between the sheets of Watchtower magazine Black Label edition, with A**er2E*o centrefold.

    Finally the rains clawed their way, invisibly, to men doing judo blindfolded as Master Po caught a grasshopper between hot urns of brass tacks, mumbling "Word limits!"outa nowhere, when an unexpected, sudden, rum-fuelled mutiny in Macarthur Park, blighted by sweet Williams and bounteous Christian fletchers, made in cairned pits for roasting methodists without any dancing on one's toes in Irish brogues, bastardising the creed. Hence, clear water revived all Cosmo's factory workers running through the grapevines, and up around green river-bends, down on the corner
    Do not do to others what you do not want done to yourself.
    - Confucius (551-479 BCE)

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  5. #803
    Join Date
    Jan 2009
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    Default Re: Three word story

    Quizzically, the demon known as Ratzinger, lifted his miniskirted assistant to the corporation of corrupt mud, her bishop's queen rooking the gullible of nights of porn, a stalemate of kings 'n' peasants, sharks 'n' fakirs, and whirling dervishes spinning two dogs. Kerberos was in RADIUS of saltatory CATS ACting badly while Cerberus was in three minds off Black Rock between Scylla and bar shy Cid, a dim male cephalopod sporting enormous hectocotyls.

    Moving waves at the focus of sugar island, then waves at the Black Beauty of Sugar Island whose Black Sugar caused happy nightmares using a banana and some string cunningly woven to resemble soft vanilla scented studded flagellatory acolytes of some palsied dynastic misfit with cold chisel's "Best of" blasting away forever. Now the breakfast menu at Sweethearts made Jesus Christ horny as a moose, hot 'n' juicy, "I love Lucy". In the sky a malevolent ochre gumboot fluttered blissfully, like house bricks don't enjoy swimming among yellow matter custard which I forgot to remember me among the variegated pittosporums.

    Wasted words containing spent syllables by expendable characters regarding worthless texts, such as the "Three Word Story", farrago of flatulent feculent fun for failed philosophy flailers felicitously fingering furry fiends found felching philandering physiognomists phoning far-flung friends for futile fun, frequently fooling fundamentalists, sashaying towards rhinos while aardvarks tango to a rhumba in 3:4 time unlike Daphnis & Chloe or the Simpsons pets. Annoyingly loud Rundle Street Mall touts for jeebus, while corn loops, horny as bulls, fantasize fellating god, your sperm's in the nethermost freezing, where the swelling sounds of choirs, and organs, wheezing, belching and groaning, boner aching, dangling participles just hanging around umlauts with a cute accent and aggravated colonitis.

    Life, love, and music, they are three nouns. Sex & Drugs & Sausage Rolls are Rock & Hudson (with a aitch) loved his Nabors Gym. No sperms in the pines heard the tree wise (Irish) monkeys wrenching their nuts and dried fruits, as Sultan Saladin, Meme of Malabar, Nabob of Negativism, Oligarch of Obscurantism, Pope of Paedophilia, Qu'ranic Queen, Dancing In The Dark dank dungeons of the dread Dodo docent, Deirdre Doolittle, whose deliciously deliquescent donuts dried out doing double duty during dubious, disturbing dung-distribution dances, designed delicately down dank, dirty dungeons.

    Speaking of circular (Look! A bird!) de-railing methods applied mathematically focus elliptically shaped conic sections in non-euclidian topography with raisins in the preantepenultimate gedankenexperiment, wherein gestalten lumpenproletriat eat raisins in a missing oil-flask did beseach the aforementioned bird to wax lyrical, cawing in ways reminiscent of Albinoni's "Adagio" played under water on a Theremin built for two.

    Meanwhile, Jeffrey Archer, disguised as a tall, leopardskin-clad lapdancer, came off in the outside of a pantomime horse. "If only all... #$%**&^!! politicians were "Sorry", sorry, sorry!, and easily beaten until frothy, with hopeless frugality, then I awoke to a tall duck and handsome cab with operatic tenners to spend a penny before maidens pedalling furiously on tiny unicycles with fat bottomed girls rhapsodising about Bohemian heaven for everyone wearing bell-bottomed leather chin-straps in unexpected places on plaice.

    Placatingly, plump, pleasant ptarmigans become de-rigeur when alliteration arises and benefits brobdingnagian bards' lilting lilliputian lyrics ululating unction up while wavering woefully, yet Yahoos yodelling scarily scatological sound-bites created complete cacophony disturbing dastardly ducks from foul fumblings, tremulously touching titillating lumps laid lasciviously 'mid mammiferous mounds encouraging erogenous excitement and arousing areolars, exciting ephemerally epiphanous vestigial vaginas.

    Verily, and forsooth, it verified Anne Forsyth's three-pronged attack on the Trident on Neptune's Maserati Mistral, blown asunder when it dropped its bottom end on a potato while hanging curtains in the nuddy; it was muddy, Kev was ruddy, on his selection of virginal male he had no end to meet, being hung like the worthless varmint, hornswoggled by lollygagging.

    Yes, the lollygaggeringisation neologism staggered many a neophyte linguist among cunning nymphs and mandrophonical Kharstufengelts, the ranK slugfest continued in errancy, like biblical texts and politician's promises to entrance lobsters and boggle bi-valves by osculating octopussies, squicking with squids in lime. If naughty nauseous nautiluses could cuddle cuttlefish then thespian theropods would welcome winkles, preferring poikilothermic polychaetes. "Que?" quoth Quasimodo; oo, sad quim swived in flagrante factoring sot-weed, the Maryland cook read horrid novels in squalid hovels behind the green bays, snookered by a red ball, the other being green, not easy discernible due to badly grammar.

    Aaron, a G-string, fugued by recursion, barked at the incessant whinging of the abused oboes stringing out wasps in factory-fresh banks of clanging percussion onomatopoeically: "Blissssh! Blissssh!" over Okie plains. Haggard geek muso and retired decathlete, traded "the erectile arm", a nag unworthy of backing, swaybacked and spavined, for a sleek, salacious, sensuous, substitute, swollen sex-sossidge, strapped by sequined leather, tethered, then feathered, beveled, leveled, disheveled on a kevel. Aaaah, she sighed, laughing with languid lasciviousness, flirting flagitiously, fornicating fabulously, and missing her oil-flask with rubber studded tastelessness, undressing vivaciously while Xeno yawned zanily.

    Zulu youths in photo booths mugged and gurned their plasticine like gums, waxing lycrally, intentionally misspelling tory, a moss piano and wheelie bin laden with trash and self indulgence, not self-awareness. It was overstuffed, filled with gas, and orange juice. Frozen, Peter stared at the footbag just for kicks while the bin contrarily stared back, musing on experience but baffled nonetheless.

    Phoning a friend, asking a team-mate named Kev-the-rev, the over-excited jack-in-a-box eagerly ate chicken-in-a-basket at Mamungkukumpurangkuntjunya Hill, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysilio gogogoch being closed to lexically challenged America's cup yachts by Bob Miller, while Commodores buttoned badges, engineered to shiny, polished opels.

    Cliffs and ridges, rolling with stones wired for sound got no satisfaction under the boardwalk, walking the dog a moonlight mile, around and around the last time. Mother's little helper rode wild horses on Ruby Tuesday, like a rainbow not fading away, too late to start me up The Khyber. Carry on another land where emotional rescue of James, Jacques Cousteau glowing from diving Bikini Atoll gurgled La Marseillaise, singing "Here, Rover" whenever opportunity presented a curious insight presented by Jenny, while Peter raced Phil's split pin around Cotter Dam with castellated nuts out of sheer joy.

    Division of Peter's bass hook added multiple negative numbers, integral to his repeated attempts to resurrect this three-day stale pail of pale ale on sale causing whales to wail and lob-tail, to no avail for the bale, e'en though kale as a sail, doomed to fail like shale rails in male gaols speaking in gael, as icy gales swept hale aardvarks abruptly across adrift aeroplankton, afraid agreeable aediles approach anger after announcing accounting absolutely agitated aliens.

    Buoyed by buxom blonde Bavarian bassists, Cypriot cellists challenged cerebrally cauterised chiropractors claiming concinnous connections channeled c/o clairvoyant mediums, large and smallgoods-fancying plainsmen, and tiny teddies were messily eaten stir-fried with chilli, butterscotch, and goo. Lies were told, egos were stroked, muffins were baked until their crusts turned into cats of exquisite beauty. Rich and rare, poor and fair, the muffins were a disaster.

    Meanwhile, Peter was busily attempting to upend an auspicious looking hand-carved antique he had bought from a suspicious dealer with small testicles. The antique was a nut-cracker with impressive credentials hand-carved from humpback baleen using unusable backing hemp hewn by hunchbacks both malodorous and ambrosial. Depicted upon the hairy back hoe driver's licence an embossed relief of a midget, wrestling with an obnoxious looking elephant, reminded Peter that he was robbed of his fluffy green Hippopotamus toy that his uncle had made love to. Peter always thought slowly and with steadily increasing monotonic sounds that resinated deep within his prepubescent brain.

    Nevertheless, as noted by the enigmatic Hitchens, atheism tHence itching, but nobody knows the trouble I've seen, nobody knows my sorrow. Full songs, composed by a polished musician, the beeswax softening the humming sound of squeaking leatherette microphones phallicly collapsing into an obscene gargoyle of Fisher, Hamill and Ford.

    The Prefect bent the imperfect ruler of the prefecture perpendicular to the ponderous penguin pendulously begarbed in fetching silken tights adorned by cosmetic devices. The penguin spoke, softly, and with three small aubergines tied to the end of his fascinating, bejewelled, pulsating, and shiny new - though somewhat dishevelled - reproduction of the original Venusian version which previously adorned Adonis, while hunting his absolute favourite aphrodisiac.

    Jupiter sat earnin' your anus, degraded into perdition by earthy venereal trombone blowing economist, marring, you know, a tight 'un. Diana gave art a miss, hunting an orcus with bow and arrows. And sticks her thumb up into Iapetus' nearby rear, her cool ease, oh bear on, oh feel ya, me randy and roamed a real "I owe you". The call is ringing, Haumea said, dwarfed by high yaks.

    Seriously, there was passive "A" behind Sioux City Sue's big red car as Jeff awoke to a menacing ornithopod called Dorothy who danced with wolves in sheep's pastures, barefoot and pregnant, with pauses, whiskerses, tailses and Gollum goes galivanting, having high hopes, low hanging Frodo, likely levelled lasciviously, making Mike micturate, with open abandon. Gay times were brandishing loaded magnums chock full of pecan nut pralines, drumsticks and corn. Meanwhile, Etto coped, paddling his Pop, cycling Peter's streets, dropping his chocolate. "Home!", I screamed, milking it for no gay times and crushed nuts. "You got hurt" shrilled the choirboys, running to paradise, as uncanny ex-men at work went down, under the boardwalk, down by the C and G, stringing it out, taking the Fifth, concerning the Firth, and setting forth to lead the revolution alongside Bolan's children, marking metal grooves on Jeepster mudguards befouled by ash from twin-lead wishbones, oscillating ball joints, as MacPherson struts along the catwalk dogged by the emu parade pickup which was ferreting, clad in duck pond mud with horse feathers masking a big store selling animal crackers nightly in Casablanca, at the opera. Love-happy cocoanuts called room service about the snake, with which Eve was adamant about application core issues between the sheets of Watchtower magazine Black Label edition, with A**er2E*o centrefold.

    Finally the rains clawed their way, invisibly, to men doing judo blindfolded as Master Po caught a grasshopper between hot urns of brass tacks, mumbling "Word limits!"outa nowhere, when an unexpected, sudden, rum-fuelled mutiny in Macarthur Park, blighted by sweet Williams and bounteous Christian fletchers, made in cairned pits for roasting methodists without any dancing on one's toes in Irish brogues, bastardising the creed. Hence, clear water revived all Cosmo's factory workers running through the grapevines, and up around green river-bends, down on the corner in Lodi again

    A call to action
    From your chair
    Is empty while
    You're sitting there.
    - Bummer Shave

  6. #804
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    Default Re: Three word story

    Note: Surely there are some other Creedence Clearwater Revival fans here?
    Do not do to others what you do not want done to yourself.
    - Confucius (551-479 BCE)

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  8. #805
    Join Date
    Jul 2012
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    I live in hope.
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    Default Re: Three word story

    Quizzically, the demon known as Ratzinger, lifted his miniskirted assistant to the corporation of corrupt mud, her bishop's queen rooking the gullible of nights of porn, a stalemate of kings 'n' peasants, sharks 'n' fakirs, and whirling dervishes spinning two dogs. Kerberos was in RADIUS of saltatory CATS ACting badly while Cerberus was in three minds off Black Rock between Scylla and bar shy Cid, a dim male cephalopod sporting enormous hectocotyls.

    Moving waves at the focus of sugar island, then waves at the Black Beauty of Sugar Island whose Black Sugar caused happy nightmares using a banana and some string cunningly woven to resemble soft vanilla scented studded flagellatory acolytes of some palsied dynastic misfit with cold chisel's "Best of" blasting away forever. Now the breakfast menu at Sweethearts made Jesus Christ horny as a moose, hot 'n' juicy, "I love Lucy". In the sky a malevolent ochre gumboot fluttered blissfully, like house bricks don't enjoy swimming among yellow matter custard which I forgot to remember me among the variegated pittosporums.

    Wasted words containing spent syllables by expendable characters regarding worthless texts, such as the "Three Word Story", farrago of flatulent feculent fun for failed philosophy flailers felicitously fingering furry fiends found felching philandering physiognomists phoning far-flung friends for futile fun, frequently fooling fundamentalists, sashaying towards rhinos while aardvarks tango to a rhumba in 3:4 time unlike Daphnis & Chloe or the Simpsons pets. Annoyingly loud Rundle Street Mall touts for jeebus, while corn loops, horny as bulls, fantasize fellating god, your sperm's in the nethermost freezing, where the swelling sounds of choirs, and organs, wheezing, belching and groaning, boner aching, dangling participles just hanging around umlauts with a cute accent and aggravated colonitis.

    Life, love, and music, they are three nouns. Sex & Drugs & Sausage Rolls are Rock & Hudson (with a aitch) loved his Nabors Gym. No sperms in the pines heard the tree wise (Irish) monkeys wrenching their nuts and dried fruits, as Sultan Saladin, Meme of Malabar, Nabob of Negativism, Oligarch of Obscurantism, Pope of Paedophilia, Qu'ranic Queen, Dancing In The Dark dank dungeons of the dread Dodo docent, Deirdre Doolittle, whose deliciously deliquescent donuts dried out doing double duty during dubious, disturbing dung-distribution dances, designed delicately down dank, dirty dungeons.

    Speaking of circular (Look! A bird!) de-railing methods applied mathematically focus elliptically shaped conic sections in non-euclidian topography with raisins in the preantepenultimate gedankenexperiment, wherein gestalten lumpenproletriat eat raisins in a missing oil-flask did beseach the aforementioned bird to wax lyrical, cawing in ways reminiscent of Albinoni's "Adagio" played under water on a Theremin built for two.

    Meanwhile, Jeffrey Archer, disguised as a tall, leopardskin-clad lapdancer, came off in the outside of a pantomime horse. "If only all... #$%**&^!! politicians were "Sorry", sorry, sorry!, and easily beaten until frothy, with hopeless frugality, then I awoke to a tall duck and handsome cab with operatic tenners to spend a penny before maidens pedalling furiously on tiny unicycles with fat bottomed girls rhapsodising about Bohemian heaven for everyone wearing bell-bottomed leather chin-straps in unexpected places on plaice.

    Placatingly, plump, pleasant ptarmigans become de-rigeur when alliteration arises and benefits brobdingnagian bards' lilting lilliputian lyrics ululating unction up while wavering woefully, yet Yahoos yodelling scarily scatological sound-bites created complete cacophony disturbing dastardly ducks from foul fumblings, tremulously touching titillating lumps laid lasciviously 'mid mammiferous mounds encouraging erogenous excitement and arousing areolars, exciting ephemerally epiphanous vestigial vaginas.

    Verily, and forsooth, it verified Anne Forsyth's three-pronged attack on the Trident on Neptune's Maserati Mistral, blown asunder when it dropped its bottom end on a potato while hanging curtains in the nuddy; it was muddy, Kev was ruddy, on his selection of virginal male he had no end to meet, being hung like the worthless varmint, hornswoggled by lollygagging.

    Yes, the lollygaggeringisation neologism staggered many a neophyte linguist among cunning nymphs and mandrophonical Kharstufengelts, the ranK slugfest continued in errancy, like biblical texts and politician's promises to entrance lobsters and boggle bi-valves by osculating octopussies, squicking with squids in lime. If naughty nauseous nautiluses could cuddle cuttlefish then thespian theropods would welcome winkles, preferring poikilothermic polychaetes. "Que?" quoth Quasimodo; oo, sad quim swived in flagrante factoring sot-weed, the Maryland cook read horrid novels in squalid hovels behind the green bays, snookered by a red ball, the other being green, not easy discernible due to badly grammar.

    Aaron, a G-string, fugued by recursion, barked at the incessant whinging of the abused oboes stringing out wasps in factory-fresh banks of clanging percussion onomatopoeically: "Blissssh! Blissssh!" over Okie plains. Haggard geek muso and retired decathlete, traded "the erectile arm", a nag unworthy of backing, swaybacked and spavined, for a sleek, salacious, sensuous, substitute, swollen sex-sossidge, strapped by sequined leather, tethered, then feathered, beveled, leveled, disheveled on a kevel. Aaaah, she sighed, laughing with languid lasciviousness, flirting flagitiously, fornicating fabulously, and missing her oil-flask with rubber studded tastelessness, undressing vivaciously while Xeno yawned zanily.

    Zulu youths in photo booths mugged and gurned their plasticine like gums, waxing lycrally, intentionally misspelling tory, a moss piano and wheelie bin laden with trash and self indulgence, not self-awareness. It was overstuffed, filled with gas, and orange juice. Frozen, Peter stared at the footbag just for kicks while the bin contrarily stared back, musing on experience but baffled nonetheless.

    Phoning a friend, asking a team-mate named Kev-the-rev, the over-excited jack-in-a-box eagerly ate chicken-in-a-basket at Mamungkukumpurangkuntjunya Hill, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysilio gogogoch being closed to lexically challenged America's cup yachts by Bob Miller, while Commodores buttoned badges, engineered to shiny, polished opels.

    Cliffs and ridges, rolling with stones wired for sound got no satisfaction under the boardwalk, walking the dog a moonlight mile, around and around the last time. Mother's little helper rode wild horses on Ruby Tuesday, like a rainbow not fading away, too late to start me up The Khyber. Carry on another land where emotional rescue of James, Jacques Cousteau glowing from diving Bikini Atoll gurgled La Marseillaise, singing "Here, Rover" whenever opportunity presented a curious insight presented by Jenny, while Peter raced Phil's split pin around Cotter Dam with castellated nuts out of sheer joy.

    Division of Peter's bass hook added multiple negative numbers, integral to his repeated attempts to resurrect this three-day stale pail of pale ale on sale causing whales to wail and lob-tail, to no avail for the bale, e'en though kale as a sail, doomed to fail like shale rails in male gaols speaking in gael, as icy gales swept hale aardvarks abruptly across adrift aeroplankton, afraid agreeable aediles approach anger after announcing accounting absolutely agitated aliens.

    Buoyed by buxom blonde Bavarian bassists, Cypriot cellists challenged cerebrally cauterised chiropractors claiming concinnous connections channeled c/o clairvoyant mediums, large and smallgoods-fancying plainsmen, and tiny teddies were messily eaten stir-fried with chilli, butterscotch, and goo. Lies were told, egos were stroked, muffins were baked until their crusts turned into cats of exquisite beauty. Rich and rare, poor and fair, the muffins were a disaster.

    Meanwhile, Peter was busily attempting to upend an auspicious looking hand-carved antique he had bought from a suspicious dealer with small testicles. The antique was a nut-cracker with impressive credentials hand-carved from humpback baleen using unusable backing hemp hewn by hunchbacks both malodorous and ambrosial. Depicted upon the hairy back hoe driver's licence an embossed relief of a midget, wrestling with an obnoxious looking elephant, reminded Peter that he was robbed of his fluffy green Hippopotamus toy that his uncle had made love to. Peter always thought slowly and with steadily increasing monotonic sounds that resinated deep within his prepubescent brain.

    Nevertheless, as noted by the enigmatic Hitchens, atheism tHence itching, but nobody knows the trouble I've seen, nobody knows my sorrow. Full songs, composed by a polished musician, the beeswax softening the humming sound of squeaking leatherette microphones phallicly collapsing into an obscene gargoyle of Fisher, Hamill and Ford.

    The Prefect bent the imperfect ruler of the prefecture perpendicular to the ponderous penguin pendulously begarbed in fetching silken tights adorned by cosmetic devices. The penguin spoke, softly, and with three small aubergines tied to the end of his fascinating, bejewelled, pulsating, and shiny new - though somewhat dishevelled - reproduction of the original Venusian version which previously adorned Adonis, while hunting his absolute favourite aphrodisiac.

    Jupiter sat earnin' your anus, degraded into perdition by earthy venereal trombone blowing economist, marring, you know, a tight 'un. Diana gave art a miss, hunting an orcus with bow and arrows. And sticks her thumb up into Iapetus' nearby rear, her cool ease, oh bear on, oh feel ya, me randy and roamed a real "I owe you". The call is ringing, Haumea said, dwarfed by high yaks.

    Seriously, there was passive "A" behind Sioux City Sue's big red car as Jeff awoke to a menacing ornithopod called Dorothy who danced with wolves in sheep's pastures, barefoot and pregnant, with pauses, whiskerses, tailses and Gollum goes galivanting, having high hopes, low hanging Frodo, likely levelled lasciviously, making Mike micturate, with open abandon. Gay times were brandishing loaded magnums chock full of pecan nut pralines, drumsticks and corn. Meanwhile, Etto coped, paddling his Pop, cycling Peter's streets, dropping his chocolate. "Home!", I screamed, milking it for no gay times and crushed nuts. "You got hurt" shrilled the choirboys, running to paradise, as uncanny ex-men at work went down, under the boardwalk, down by the C and G, stringing it out, taking the Fifth, concerning the Firth, and setting forth to lead the revolution alongside Bolan's children, marking metal grooves on Jeepster mudguards befouled by ash from twin-lead wishbones, oscillating ball joints, as MacPherson struts along the catwalk dogged by the emu parade pickup which was ferreting, clad in duck pond mud with horse feathers masking a big store selling animal crackers nightly in Casablanca, at the opera. Love-happy cocoanuts called room service about the snake, with which Eve was adamant about application core issues between the sheets of Watchtower magazine Black Label edition, with A**er2E*o centrefold.

    Finally the rains clawed their way, invisibly, to men doing judo blindfolded as Master Po caught a grasshopper between hot urns of brass tacks, mumbling "Word limits!"outa nowhere, when an unexpected, sudden, rum-fuelled mutiny in Macarthur Park, blighted by sweet Williams and bounteous Christian fletchers, made in cairned pits for roasting methodists without any dancing on one's toes in Irish brogues, bastardising the creed. Hence, clear water revived all Cosmo's factory workers running through the grapevines, and up around green river-bends, down on the corner in Lodi again, proud, fortunate Molina
    'The biggest threat to security, to life in all its forms, is the system that drives the climate disaster.'
    In Climate Leviathan: A Political Theory of Our Planetary Future, 2018.

  9. #806
    Join Date
    Jan 2009
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    Default Re: Three word story

    Quote blondbombshell said View Post
    WTF!!!!!!
    Note: Oh, hi there, New Person!

    This is a little story we are making, three words at a time.

    It's filled with puns and cultural references of all kinds.

    Please, stick around. Even if this doesn't appeal, I'm sure there's something here to engage your interest.

    A call to action
    From your chair
    Is empty while
    You're sitting there.
    - Bummer Shave

  10. #807
    Join Date
    Jan 2009
    Location
    Mt Backabuggari Pepper Research Institute
    Posts
    21,426

    Default Re: Three word story

    Quizzically, the demon known as Ratzinger, lifted his miniskirted assistant to the corporation of corrupt mud, her bishop's queen rooking the gullible of nights of porn, a stalemate of kings 'n' peasants, sharks 'n' fakirs, and whirling dervishes spinning two dogs. Kerberos was in RADIUS of saltatory CATS ACting badly while Cerberus was in three minds off Black Rock between Scylla and bar shy Cid, a dim male cephalopod sporting enormous hectocotyls.

    Moving waves at the focus of sugar island, then waves at the Black Beauty of Sugar Island whose Black Sugar caused happy nightmares using a banana and some string cunningly woven to resemble soft vanilla scented studded flagellatory acolytes of some palsied dynastic misfit with cold chisel's "Best of" blasting away forever. Now the breakfast menu at Sweethearts made Jesus Christ horny as a moose, hot 'n' juicy, "I love Lucy". In the sky a malevolent ochre gumboot fluttered blissfully, like house bricks don't enjoy swimming among yellow matter custard which I forgot to remember me among the variegated pittosporums.

    Wasted words containing spent syllables by expendable characters regarding worthless texts, such as the "Three Word Story", farrago of flatulent feculent fun for failed philosophy flailers felicitously fingering furry fiends found felching philandering physiognomists phoning far-flung friends for futile fun, frequently fooling fundamentalists, sashaying towards rhinos while aardvarks tango to a rhumba in 3:4 time unlike Daphnis & Chloe or the Simpsons pets. Annoyingly loud Rundle Street Mall touts for jeebus, while corn loops, horny as bulls, fantasize fellating god, your sperm's in the nethermost freezing, where the swelling sounds of choirs, and organs, wheezing, belching and groaning, boner aching, dangling participles just hanging around umlauts with a cute accent and aggravated colonitis.

    Life, love, and music, they are three nouns. Sex & Drugs & Sausage Rolls are Rock & Hudson (with a aitch) loved his Nabors Gym. No sperms in the pines heard the tree wise (Irish) monkeys wrenching their nuts and dried fruits, as Sultan Saladin, Meme of Malabar, Nabob of Negativism, Oligarch of Obscurantism, Pope of Paedophilia, Qu'ranic Queen, Dancing In The Dark dank dungeons of the dread Dodo docent, Deirdre Doolittle, whose deliciously deliquescent donuts dried out doing double duty during dubious, disturbing dung-distribution dances, designed delicately down dank, dirty dungeons.

    Speaking of circular (Look! A bird!) de-railing methods applied mathematically focus elliptically shaped conic sections in non-euclidian topography with raisins in the preantepenultimate gedankenexperiment, wherein gestalten lumpenproletriat eat raisins in a missing oil-flask did beseach the aforementioned bird to wax lyrical, cawing in ways reminiscent of Albinoni's "Adagio" played under water on a Theremin built for two.

    Meanwhile, Jeffrey Archer, disguised as a tall, leopardskin-clad lapdancer, came off in the outside of a pantomime horse. "If only all... #$%**&^!! politicians were "Sorry", sorry, sorry!, and easily beaten until frothy, with hopeless frugality, then I awoke to a tall duck and handsome cab with operatic tenners to spend a penny before maidens pedalling furiously on tiny unicycles with fat bottomed girls rhapsodising about Bohemian heaven for everyone wearing bell-bottomed leather chin-straps in unexpected places on plaice.

    Placatingly, plump, pleasant ptarmigans become de-rigeur when alliteration arises and benefits brobdingnagian bards' lilting lilliputian lyrics ululating unction up while wavering woefully, yet Yahoos yodelling scarily scatological sound-bites created complete cacophony disturbing dastardly ducks from foul fumblings, tremulously touching titillating lumps laid lasciviously 'mid mammiferous mounds encouraging erogenous excitement and arousing areolars, exciting ephemerally epiphanous vestigial vaginas.

    Verily, and forsooth, it verified Anne Forsyth's three-pronged attack on the Trident on Neptune's Maserati Mistral, blown asunder when it dropped its bottom end on a potato while hanging curtains in the nuddy; it was muddy, Kev was ruddy, on his selection of virginal male he had no end to meet, being hung like the worthless varmint, hornswoggled by lollygagging.

    Yes, the lollygaggeringisation neologism staggered many a neophyte linguist among cunning nymphs and mandrophonical Kharstufengelts, the ranK slugfest continued in errancy, like biblical texts and politician's promises to entrance lobsters and boggle bi-valves by osculating octopussies, squicking with squids in lime. If naughty nauseous nautiluses could cuddle cuttlefish then thespian theropods would welcome winkles, preferring poikilothermic polychaetes. "Que?" quoth Quasimodo; oo, sad quim swived in flagrante factoring sot-weed, the Maryland cook read horrid novels in squalid hovels behind the green bays, snookered by a red ball, the other being green, not easy discernible due to badly grammar.

    Aaron, a G-string, fugued by recursion, barked at the incessant whinging of the abused oboes stringing out wasps in factory-fresh banks of clanging percussion onomatopoeically: "Blissssh! Blissssh!" over Okie plains. Haggard geek muso and retired decathlete, traded "the erectile arm", a nag unworthy of backing, swaybacked and spavined, for a sleek, salacious, sensuous, substitute, swollen sex-sossidge, strapped by sequined leather, tethered, then feathered, beveled, leveled, disheveled on a kevel. Aaaah, she sighed, laughing with languid lasciviousness, flirting flagitiously, fornicating fabulously, and missing her oil-flask with rubber studded tastelessness, undressing vivaciously while Xeno yawned zanily.

    Zulu youths in photo booths mugged and gurned their plasticine like gums, waxing lycrally, intentionally misspelling tory, a moss piano and wheelie bin laden with trash and self indulgence, not self-awareness. It was overstuffed, filled with gas, and orange juice. Frozen, Peter stared at the footbag just for kicks while the bin contrarily stared back, musing on experience but baffled nonetheless.

    Phoning a friend, asking a team-mate named Kev-the-rev, the over-excited jack-in-a-box eagerly ate chicken-in-a-basket at Mamungkukumpurangkuntjunya Hill, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysilio gogogoch being closed to lexically challenged America's cup yachts by Bob Miller, while Commodores buttoned badges, engineered to shiny, polished opels.

    Cliffs and ridges, rolling with stones wired for sound got no satisfaction under the boardwalk, walking the dog a moonlight mile, around and around the last time. Mother's little helper rode wild horses on Ruby Tuesday, like a rainbow not fading away, too late to start me up The Khyber. Carry on another land where emotional rescue of James, Jacques Cousteau glowing from diving Bikini Atoll gurgled La Marseillaise, singing "Here, Rover" whenever opportunity presented a curious insight presented by Jenny, while Peter raced Phil's split pin around Cotter Dam with castellated nuts out of sheer joy.

    Division of Peter's bass hook added multiple negative numbers, integral to his repeated attempts to resurrect this three-day stale pail of pale ale on sale causing whales to wail and lob-tail, to no avail for the bale, e'en though kale as a sail, doomed to fail like shale rails in male gaols speaking in gael, as icy gales swept hale aardvarks abruptly across adrift aeroplankton, afraid agreeable aediles approach anger after announcing accounting absolutely agitated aliens.

    Buoyed by buxom blonde Bavarian bassists, Cypriot cellists challenged cerebrally cauterised chiropractors claiming concinnous connections channeled c/o clairvoyant mediums, large and smallgoods-fancying plainsmen, and tiny teddies were messily eaten stir-fried with chilli, butterscotch, and goo. Lies were told, egos were stroked, muffins were baked until their crusts turned into cats of exquisite beauty. Rich and rare, poor and fair, the muffins were a disaster.

    Meanwhile, Peter was busily attempting to upend an auspicious looking hand-carved antique he had bought from a suspicious dealer with small testicles. The antique was a nut-cracker with impressive credentials hand-carved from humpback baleen using unusable backing hemp hewn by hunchbacks both malodorous and ambrosial. Depicted upon the hairy back hoe driver's licence an embossed relief of a midget, wrestling with an obnoxious looking elephant, reminded Peter that he was robbed of his fluffy green Hippopotamus toy that his uncle had made love to. Peter always thought slowly and with steadily increasing monotonic sounds that resinated deep within his prepubescent brain.

    Nevertheless, as noted by the enigmatic Hitchens, atheism tHence itching, but nobody knows the trouble I've seen, nobody knows my sorrow. Full songs, composed by a polished musician, the beeswax softening the humming sound of squeaking leatherette microphones phallicly collapsing into an obscene gargoyle of Fisher, Hamill and Ford.

    The Prefect bent the imperfect ruler of the prefecture perpendicular to the ponderous penguin pendulously begarbed in fetching silken tights adorned by cosmetic devices. The penguin spoke, softly, and with three small aubergines tied to the end of his fascinating, bejewelled, pulsating, and shiny new - though somewhat dishevelled - reproduction of the original Venusian version which previously adorned Adonis, while hunting his absolute favourite aphrodisiac.

    Jupiter sat earnin' your anus, degraded into perdition by earthy venereal trombone blowing economist, marring, you know, a tight 'un. Diana gave art a miss, hunting an orcus with bow and arrows. And sticks her thumb up into Iapetus' nearby rear, her cool ease, oh bear on, oh feel ya, me randy and roamed a real "I owe you". The call is ringing, Haumea said, dwarfed by high yaks.

    Seriously, there was passive "A" behind Sioux City Sue's big red car as Jeff awoke to a menacing ornithopod called Dorothy who danced with wolves in sheep's pastures, barefoot and pregnant, with pauses, whiskerses, tailses and Gollum goes galivanting, having high hopes, low hanging Frodo, likely levelled lasciviously, making Mike micturate, with open abandon. Gay times were brandishing loaded magnums chock full of pecan nut pralines, drumsticks and corn. Meanwhile, Etto coped, paddling his Pop, cycling Peter's streets, dropping his chocolate. "Home!", I screamed, milking it for no gay times and crushed nuts. "You got hurt" shrilled the choirboys, running to paradise, as uncanny ex-men at work went down, under the boardwalk, down by the C and G, stringing it out, taking the Fifth, concerning the Firth, and setting forth to lead the revolution alongside Bolan's children, marking metal grooves on Jeepster mudguards befouled by ash from twin-lead wishbones, oscillating ball joints, as MacPherson struts along the catwalk dogged by the emu parade pickup which was ferreting, clad in duck pond mud with horse feathers masking a big store selling animal crackers nightly in Casablanca, at the opera. Love-happy cocoanuts called room service about the snake, with which Eve was adamant about application core issues between the sheets of Watchtower magazine Black Label edition, with A**er2E*o centrefold.

    Finally the rains clawed their way, invisibly, to men doing judo blindfolded as Master Po caught a grasshopper between hot urns of brass tacks, mumbling "Word limits!"outa nowhere, when an unexpected, sudden, rum-fuelled mutiny in Macarthur Park, blighted by sweet Williams and bounteous Christian fletchers, made in cairned pits for roasting methodists without any dancing on one's toes in Irish brogues, bastardising the creed. Hence, clear water revived all Cosmo's factory workers running through the grapevines, and up around green river-bends, down on the corner in Lodi again, proud, fortunate Molina saw the rain

    A call to action
    From your chair
    Is empty while
    You're sitting there.
    - Bummer Shave

  11. #808
    Join Date
    Jan 2009
    Location
    Shell Cove, NSW
    Posts
    13,091

    Default Re: Three word story

    Note:
    Quote The Irreverent Mr Black said View Post
    Quote blondbombshell said View Post
    WTF!!!!!!
    Note: Oh, hi there, New Person!

    This is a little story we are making, three words at a time.

    It's filled with puns and cultural references of all kinds.

    Please, stick around. Even if this doesn't appeal, I'm sure there's something here to engage your interest.
    They've not visited since the 14th January, and that post from the 4th January has just appeared because approval of their first post had been overlooked until just now.
    Do not do to others what you do not want done to yourself.
    - Confucius (551-479 BCE)

  12. Like button davo liked this post
    Thank button The Irreverent Mr Black, davo thanked this post
  13. #809
    Join Date
    Jul 2012
    Location
    I live in hope.
    Posts
    9,035

    Default Re: Three word story

    Quizzically, the demon known as Ratzinger, lifted his miniskirted assistant to the corporation of corrupt mud, her bishop's queen rooking the gullible of nights of porn, a stalemate of kings 'n' peasants, sharks 'n' fakirs, and whirling dervishes spinning two dogs. Kerberos was in RADIUS of saltatory CATS ACting badly while Cerberus was in three minds off Black Rock between Scylla and bar shy Cid, a dim male cephalopod sporting enormous hectocotyls.

    Moving waves at the focus of sugar island, then waves at the Black Beauty of Sugar Island whose Black Sugar caused happy nightmares using a banana and some string cunningly woven to resemble soft vanilla scented studded flagellatory acolytes of some palsied dynastic misfit with cold chisel's "Best of" blasting away forever. Now the breakfast menu at Sweethearts made Jesus Christ horny as a moose, hot 'n' juicy, "I love Lucy". In the sky a malevolent ochre gumboot fluttered blissfully, like house bricks don't enjoy swimming among yellow matter custard which I forgot to remember me among the variegated pittosporums.

    Wasted words containing spent syllables by expendable characters regarding worthless texts, such as the "Three Word Story", farrago of flatulent feculent fun for failed philosophy flailers felicitously fingering furry fiends found felching philandering physiognomists phoning far-flung friends for futile fun, frequently fooling fundamentalists, sashaying towards rhinos while aardvarks tango to a rhumba in 3:4 time unlike Daphnis & Chloe or the Simpsons pets. Annoyingly loud Rundle Street Mall touts for jeebus, while corn loops, horny as bulls, fantasize fellating god, your sperm's in the nethermost freezing, where the swelling sounds of choirs, and organs, wheezing, belching and groaning, boner aching, dangling participles just hanging around umlauts with a cute accent and aggravated colonitis.

    Life, love, and music, they are three nouns. Sex & Drugs & Sausage Rolls are Rock & Hudson (with a aitch) loved his Nabors Gym. No sperms in the pines heard the tree wise (Irish) monkeys wrenching their nuts and dried fruits, as Sultan Saladin, Meme of Malabar, Nabob of Negativism, Oligarch of Obscurantism, Pope of Paedophilia, Qu'ranic Queen, Dancing In The Dark dank dungeons of the dread Dodo docent, Deirdre Doolittle, whose deliciously deliquescent donuts dried out doing double duty during dubious, disturbing dung-distribution dances, designed delicately down dank, dirty dungeons.

    Speaking of circular (Look! A bird!) de-railing methods applied mathematically focus elliptically shaped conic sections in non-euclidian topography with raisins in the preantepenultimate gedankenexperiment, wherein gestalten lumpenproletriat eat raisins in a missing oil-flask did beseach the aforementioned bird to wax lyrical, cawing in ways reminiscent of Albinoni's "Adagio" played under water on a Theremin built for two.

    Meanwhile, Jeffrey Archer, disguised as a tall, leopardskin-clad lapdancer, came off in the outside of a pantomime horse. "If only all... #$%**&^!! politicians were "Sorry", sorry, sorry!, and easily beaten until frothy, with hopeless frugality, then I awoke to a tall duck and handsome cab with operatic tenners to spend a penny before maidens pedalling furiously on tiny unicycles with fat bottomed girls rhapsodising about Bohemian heaven for everyone wearing bell-bottomed leather chin-straps in unexpected places on plaice.

    Placatingly, plump, pleasant ptarmigans become de-rigeur when alliteration arises and benefits brobdingnagian bards' lilting lilliputian lyrics ululating unction up while wavering woefully, yet Yahoos yodelling scarily scatological sound-bites created complete cacophony disturbing dastardly ducks from foul fumblings, tremulously touching titillating lumps laid lasciviously 'mid mammiferous mounds encouraging erogenous excitement and arousing areolars, exciting ephemerally epiphanous vestigial vaginas.

    Verily, and forsooth, it verified Anne Forsyth's three-pronged attack on the Trident on Neptune's Maserati Mistral, blown asunder when it dropped its bottom end on a potato while hanging curtains in the nuddy; it was muddy, Kev was ruddy, on his selection of virginal male he had no end to meet, being hung like the worthless varmint, hornswoggled by lollygagging.

    Yes, the lollygaggeringisation neologism staggered many a neophyte linguist among cunning nymphs and mandrophonical Kharstufengelts, the ranK slugfest continued in errancy, like biblical texts and politician's promises to entrance lobsters and boggle bi-valves by osculating octopussies, squicking with squids in lime. If naughty nauseous nautiluses could cuddle cuttlefish then thespian theropods would welcome winkles, preferring poikilothermic polychaetes. "Que?" quoth Quasimodo; oo, sad quim swived in flagrante factoring sot-weed, the Maryland cook read horrid novels in squalid hovels behind the green bays, snookered by a red ball, the other being green, not easy discernible due to badly grammar.

    Aaron, a G-string, fugued by recursion, barked at the incessant whinging of the abused oboes stringing out wasps in factory-fresh banks of clanging percussion onomatopoeically: "Blissssh! Blissssh!" over Okie plains. Haggard geek muso and retired decathlete, traded "the erectile arm", a nag unworthy of backing, swaybacked and spavined, for a sleek, salacious, sensuous, substitute, swollen sex-sossidge, strapped by sequined leather, tethered, then feathered, beveled, leveled, disheveled on a kevel. Aaaah, she sighed, laughing with languid lasciviousness, flirting flagitiously, fornicating fabulously, and missing her oil-flask with rubber studded tastelessness, undressing vivaciously while Xeno yawned zanily.

    Zulu youths in photo booths mugged and gurned their plasticine like gums, waxing lycrally, intentionally misspelling tory, a moss piano and wheelie bin laden with trash and self indulgence, not self-awareness. It was overstuffed, filled with gas, and orange juice. Frozen, Peter stared at the footbag just for kicks while the bin contrarily stared back, musing on experience but baffled nonetheless.

    Phoning a friend, asking a team-mate named Kev-the-rev, the over-excited jack-in-a-box eagerly ate chicken-in-a-basket at Mamungkukumpurangkuntjunya Hill, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysilio gogogoch being closed to lexically challenged America's cup yachts by Bob Miller, while Commodores buttoned badges, engineered to shiny, polished opels.

    Cliffs and ridges, rolling with stones wired for sound got no satisfaction under the boardwalk, walking the dog a moonlight mile, around and around the last time. Mother's little helper rode wild horses on Ruby Tuesday, like a rainbow not fading away, too late to start me up The Khyber. Carry on another land where emotional rescue of James, Jacques Cousteau glowing from diving Bikini Atoll gurgled La Marseillaise, singing "Here, Rover" whenever opportunity presented a curious insight presented by Jenny, while Peter raced Phil's split pin around Cotter Dam with castellated nuts out of sheer joy.

    Division of Peter's bass hook added multiple negative numbers, integral to his repeated attempts to resurrect this three-day stale pail of pale ale on sale causing whales to wail and lob-tail, to no avail for the bale, e'en though kale as a sail, doomed to fail like shale rails in male gaols speaking in gael, as icy gales swept hale aardvarks abruptly across adrift aeroplankton, afraid agreeable aediles approach anger after announcing accounting absolutely agitated aliens.

    Buoyed by buxom blonde Bavarian bassists, Cypriot cellists challenged cerebrally cauterised chiropractors claiming concinnous connections channeled c/o clairvoyant mediums, large and smallgoods-fancying plainsmen, and tiny teddies were messily eaten stir-fried with chilli, butterscotch, and goo. Lies were told, egos were stroked, muffins were baked until their crusts turned into cats of exquisite beauty. Rich and rare, poor and fair, the muffins were a disaster.

    Meanwhile, Peter was busily attempting to upend an auspicious looking hand-carved antique he had bought from a suspicious dealer with small testicles. The antique was a nut-cracker with impressive credentials hand-carved from humpback baleen using unusable backing hemp hewn by hunchbacks both malodorous and ambrosial. Depicted upon the hairy back hoe driver's licence an embossed relief of a midget, wrestling with an obnoxious looking elephant, reminded Peter that he was robbed of his fluffy green Hippopotamus toy that his uncle had made love to. Peter always thought slowly and with steadily increasing monotonic sounds that resinated deep within his prepubescent brain.

    Nevertheless, as noted by the enigmatic Hitchens, atheism tHence itching, but nobody knows the trouble I've seen, nobody knows my sorrow. Full songs, composed by a polished musician, the beeswax softening the humming sound of squeaking leatherette microphones phallicly collapsing into an obscene gargoyle of Fisher, Hamill and Ford.

    The Prefect bent the imperfect ruler of the prefecture perpendicular to the ponderous penguin pendulously begarbed in fetching silken tights adorned by cosmetic devices. The penguin spoke, softly, and with three small aubergines tied to the end of his fascinating, bejewelled, pulsating, and shiny new - though somewhat dishevelled - reproduction of the original Venusian version which previously adorned Adonis, while hunting his absolute favourite aphrodisiac.

    Jupiter sat earnin' your anus, degraded into perdition by earthy venereal trombone blowing economist, marring, you know, a tight 'un. Diana gave art a miss, hunting an orcus with bow and arrows. And sticks her thumb up into Iapetus' nearby rear, her cool ease, oh bear on, oh feel ya, me randy and roamed a real "I owe you". The call is ringing, Haumea said, dwarfed by high yaks.

    Seriously, there was passive "A" behind Sioux City Sue's big red car as Jeff awoke to a menacing ornithopod called Dorothy who danced with wolves in sheep's pastures, barefoot and pregnant, with pauses, whiskerses, tailses and Gollum goes galivanting, having high hopes, low hanging Frodo, likely levelled lasciviously, making Mike micturate, with open abandon. Gay times were brandishing loaded magnums chock full of pecan nut pralines, drumsticks and corn. Meanwhile, Etto coped, paddling his Pop, cycling Peter's streets, dropping his chocolate. "Home!", I screamed, milking it for no gay times and crushed nuts. "You got hurt" shrilled the choirboys, running to paradise, as uncanny ex-men at work went down, under the boardwalk, down by the C and G, stringing it out, taking the Fifth, concerning the Firth, and setting forth to lead the revolution alongside Bolan's children, marking metal grooves on Jeepster mudguards befouled by ash from twin-lead wishbones, oscillating ball joints, as MacPherson struts along the catwalk dogged by the emu parade pickup which was ferreting, clad in duck pond mud with horse feathers masking a big store selling animal crackers nightly in Casablanca, at the opera. Love-happy cocoanuts called room service about the snake, with which Eve was adamant about application core issues between the sheets of Watchtower magazine Black Label edition, with A**er2E*o centrefold.

    Finally the rains clawed their way, invisibly, to men doing judo blindfolded as Master Po caught a grasshopper between hot urns of brass tacks, mumbling "Word limits!"outa nowhere, when an unexpected, sudden, rum-fuelled mutiny in Macarthur Park, blighted by sweet Williams and bounteous Christian fletchers, made in cairned pits for roasting methodists without any dancing on one's toes in Irish brogues, bastardising the creed. Hence, clear water revived all Cosmo's factory workers running through the grapevines, and up around green river-bends, down on the corner in Lodi again, proud, fortunate Molina saw the rain drenching Wiilie’s Kalamazoo
    'The biggest threat to security, to life in all its forms, is the system that drives the climate disaster.'
    In Climate Leviathan: A Political Theory of Our Planetary Future, 2018.

  14. #810
    Join Date
    Jan 2009
    Location
    Mt Backabuggari Pepper Research Institute
    Posts
    21,426

    Default Re: Three word story

    Quizzically, the demon known as Ratzinger, lifted his miniskirted assistant to the corporation of corrupt mud, her bishop's queen rooking the gullible of nights of porn, a stalemate of kings 'n' peasants, sharks 'n' fakirs, and whirling dervishes spinning two dogs. Kerberos was in RADIUS of saltatory CATS ACting badly while Cerberus was in three minds off Black Rock between Scylla and bar shy Cid, a dim male cephalopod sporting enormous hectocotyls.

    Moving waves at the focus of sugar island, then waves at the Black Beauty of Sugar Island whose Black Sugar caused happy nightmares using a banana and some string cunningly woven to resemble soft vanilla scented studded flagellatory acolytes of some palsied dynastic misfit with cold chisel's "Best of" blasting away forever. Now the breakfast menu at Sweethearts made Jesus Christ horny as a moose, hot 'n' juicy, "I love Lucy". In the sky a malevolent ochre gumboot fluttered blissfully, like house bricks don't enjoy swimming among yellow matter custard which I forgot to remember me among the variegated pittosporums.

    Wasted words containing spent syllables by expendable characters regarding worthless texts, such as the "Three Word Story", farrago of flatulent feculent fun for failed philosophy flailers felicitously fingering furry fiends found felching philandering physiognomists phoning far-flung friends for futile fun, frequently fooling fundamentalists, sashaying towards rhinos while aardvarks tango to a rhumba in 3:4 time unlike Daphnis & Chloe or the Simpsons pets. Annoyingly loud Rundle Street Mall touts for jeebus, while corn loops, horny as bulls, fantasize fellating god, your sperm's in the nethermost freezing, where the swelling sounds of choirs, and organs, wheezing, belching and groaning, boner aching, dangling participles just hanging around umlauts with a cute accent and aggravated colonitis.

    Life, love, and music, they are three nouns. Sex & Drugs & Sausage Rolls are Rock & Hudson (with a aitch) loved his Nabors Gym. No sperms in the pines heard the tree wise (Irish) monkeys wrenching their nuts and dried fruits, as Sultan Saladin, Meme of Malabar, Nabob of Negativism, Oligarch of Obscurantism, Pope of Paedophilia, Qu'ranic Queen, Dancing In The Dark dank dungeons of the dread Dodo docent, Deirdre Doolittle, whose deliciously deliquescent donuts dried out doing double duty during dubious, disturbing dung-distribution dances, designed delicately down dank, dirty dungeons.

    Speaking of circular (Look! A bird!) de-railing methods applied mathematically focus elliptically shaped conic sections in non-euclidian topography with raisins in the preantepenultimate gedankenexperiment, wherein gestalten lumpenproletriat eat raisins in a missing oil-flask did beseach the aforementioned bird to wax lyrical, cawing in ways reminiscent of Albinoni's "Adagio" played under water on a Theremin built for two.

    Meanwhile, Jeffrey Archer, disguised as a tall, leopardskin-clad lapdancer, came off in the outside of a pantomime horse. "If only all... #$%**&^!! politicians were "Sorry", sorry, sorry!, and easily beaten until frothy, with hopeless frugality, then I awoke to a tall duck and handsome cab with operatic tenners to spend a penny before maidens pedalling furiously on tiny unicycles with fat bottomed girls rhapsodising about Bohemian heaven for everyone wearing bell-bottomed leather chin-straps in unexpected places on plaice.

    Placatingly, plump, pleasant ptarmigans become de-rigeur when alliteration arises and benefits brobdingnagian bards' lilting lilliputian lyrics ululating unction up while wavering woefully, yet Yahoos yodelling scarily scatological sound-bites created complete cacophony disturbing dastardly ducks from foul fumblings, tremulously touching titillating lumps laid lasciviously 'mid mammiferous mounds encouraging erogenous excitement and arousing areolars, exciting ephemerally epiphanous vestigial vaginas.

    Verily, and forsooth, it verified Anne Forsyth's three-pronged attack on the Trident on Neptune's Maserati Mistral, blown asunder when it dropped its bottom end on a potato while hanging curtains in the nuddy; it was muddy, Kev was ruddy, on his selection of virginal male he had no end to meet, being hung like the worthless varmint, hornswoggled by lollygagging.

    Yes, the lollygaggeringisation neologism staggered many a neophyte linguist among cunning nymphs and mandrophonical Kharstufengelts, the ranK slugfest continued in errancy, like biblical texts and politician's promises to entrance lobsters and boggle bi-valves by osculating octopussies, squicking with squids in lime. If naughty nauseous nautiluses could cuddle cuttlefish then thespian theropods would welcome winkles, preferring poikilothermic polychaetes. "Que?" quoth Quasimodo; oo, sad quim swived in flagrante factoring sot-weed, the Maryland cook read horrid novels in squalid hovels behind the green bays, snookered by a red ball, the other being green, not easy discernible due to badly grammar.

    Aaron, a G-string, fugued by recursion, barked at the incessant whinging of the abused oboes stringing out wasps in factory-fresh banks of clanging percussion onomatopoeically: "Blissssh! Blissssh!" over Okie plains. Haggard geek muso and retired decathlete, traded "the erectile arm", a nag unworthy of backing, swaybacked and spavined, for a sleek, salacious, sensuous, substitute, swollen sex-sossidge, strapped by sequined leather, tethered, then feathered, beveled, leveled, disheveled on a kevel. Aaaah, she sighed, laughing with languid lasciviousness, flirting flagitiously, fornicating fabulously, and missing her oil-flask with rubber studded tastelessness, undressing vivaciously while Xeno yawned zanily.

    Zulu youths in photo booths mugged and gurned their plasticine like gums, waxing lycrally, intentionally misspelling tory, a moss piano and wheelie bin laden with trash and self indulgence, not self-awareness. It was overstuffed, filled with gas, and orange juice. Frozen, Peter stared at the footbag just for kicks while the bin contrarily stared back, musing on experience but baffled nonetheless.

    Phoning a friend, asking a team-mate named Kev-the-rev, the over-excited jack-in-a-box eagerly ate chicken-in-a-basket at Mamungkukumpurangkuntjunya Hill, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysilio gogogoch being closed to lexically challenged America's cup yachts by Bob Miller, while Commodores buttoned badges, engineered to shiny, polished opels.

    Cliffs and ridges, rolling with stones wired for sound got no satisfaction under the boardwalk, walking the dog a moonlight mile, around and around the last time. Mother's little helper rode wild horses on Ruby Tuesday, like a rainbow not fading away, too late to start me up The Khyber. Carry on another land where emotional rescue of James, Jacques Cousteau glowing from diving Bikini Atoll gurgled La Marseillaise, singing "Here, Rover" whenever opportunity presented a curious insight presented by Jenny, while Peter raced Phil's split pin around Cotter Dam with castellated nuts out of sheer joy.

    Division of Peter's bass hook added multiple negative numbers, integral to his repeated attempts to resurrect this three-day stale pail of pale ale on sale causing whales to wail and lob-tail, to no avail for the bale, e'en though kale as a sail, doomed to fail like shale rails in male gaols speaking in gael, as icy gales swept hale aardvarks abruptly across adrift aeroplankton, afraid agreeable aediles approach anger after announcing accounting absolutely agitated aliens.

    Buoyed by buxom blonde Bavarian bassists, Cypriot cellists challenged cerebrally cauterised chiropractors claiming concinnous connections channeled c/o clairvoyant mediums, large and smallgoods-fancying plainsmen, and tiny teddies were messily eaten stir-fried with chilli, butterscotch, and goo. Lies were told, egos were stroked, muffins were baked until their crusts turned into cats of exquisite beauty. Rich and rare, poor and fair, the muffins were a disaster.

    Meanwhile, Peter was busily attempting to upend an auspicious looking hand-carved antique he had bought from a suspicious dealer with small testicles. The antique was a nut-cracker with impressive credentials hand-carved from humpback baleen using unusable backing hemp hewn by hunchbacks both malodorous and ambrosial. Depicted upon the hairy back hoe driver's licence an embossed relief of a midget, wrestling with an obnoxious looking elephant, reminded Peter that he was robbed of his fluffy green Hippopotamus toy that his uncle had made love to. Peter always thought slowly and with steadily increasing monotonic sounds that resinated deep within his prepubescent brain.

    Nevertheless, as noted by the enigmatic Hitchens, atheism tHence itching, but nobody knows the trouble I've seen, nobody knows my sorrow. Full songs, composed by a polished musician, the beeswax softening the humming sound of squeaking leatherette microphones phallicly collapsing into an obscene gargoyle of Fisher, Hamill and Ford.

    The Prefect bent the imperfect ruler of the prefecture perpendicular to the ponderous penguin pendulously begarbed in fetching silken tights adorned by cosmetic devices. The penguin spoke, softly, and with three small aubergines tied to the end of his fascinating, bejewelled, pulsating, and shiny new - though somewhat dishevelled - reproduction of the original Venusian version which previously adorned Adonis, while hunting his absolute favourite aphrodisiac.

    Jupiter sat earnin' your anus, degraded into perdition by earthy venereal trombone blowing economist, marring, you know, a tight 'un. Diana gave art a miss, hunting an orcus with bow and arrows. And sticks her thumb up into Iapetus' nearby rear, her cool ease, oh bear on, oh feel ya, me randy and roamed a real "I owe you". The call is ringing, Haumea said, dwarfed by high yaks.

    Seriously, there was passive "A" behind Sioux City Sue's big red car as Jeff awoke to a menacing ornithopod called Dorothy who danced with wolves in sheep's pastures, barefoot and pregnant, with pauses, whiskerses, tailses and Gollum goes galivanting, having high hopes, low hanging Frodo, likely levelled lasciviously, making Mike micturate, with open abandon. Gay times were brandishing loaded magnums chock full of pecan nut pralines, drumsticks and corn. Meanwhile, Etto coped, paddling his Pop, cycling Peter's streets, dropping his chocolate. "Home!", I screamed, milking it for no gay times and crushed nuts. "You got hurt" shrilled the choirboys, running to paradise, as uncanny ex-men at work went down, under the boardwalk, down by the C and G, stringing it out, taking the Fifth, concerning the Firth, and setting forth to lead the revolution alongside Bolan's children, marking metal grooves on Jeepster mudguards befouled by ash from twin-lead wishbones, oscillating ball joints, as MacPherson struts along the catwalk dogged by the emu parade pickup which was ferreting, clad in duck pond mud with horse feathers masking a big store selling animal crackers nightly in Casablanca, at the opera. Love-happy cocoanuts called room service about the snake, with which Eve was adamant about application core issues between the sheets of Watchtower magazine Black Label edition, with A**er2E*o centrefold.

    Finally the rains clawed their way, invisibly, to men doing judo blindfolded as Master Po caught a grasshopper between hot urns of brass tacks, mumbling "Word limits!"outa nowhere, when an unexpected, sudden, rum-fuelled mutiny in Macarthur Park, blighted by sweet Williams and bounteous Christian fletchers, made in cairned pits for roasting methodists without any dancing on one's toes in Irish brogues, bastardising the creed. Hence, clear water revived all Cosmo's factory workers running through the grapevines, and up around green river-bends, down on the corner in Lodi again, proud, fortunate Molina saw the rain drenching Wiilie’s Kalamazoo, choogling sinister purpose

    A call to action
    From your chair
    Is empty while
    You're sitting there.
    - Bummer Shave

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