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An unabridgement in hen pox, sturgeon-hex, tom-fools, Bader, tossing it all in the air, and talking into a tape recorder when you think nobody is looking...
There are times when the old hen would take her pecks away and leave us for fools. I wasn't hep to the plan, but sacks of beaver-caps and stovepipe wipes had us fearing less-so; the endangerment of an encroaching aurora-roar, oaring its way up side-paddles and wires slung low over the Mampa River were good enough to keep us satiated, satisfied, and bladdered. Hopes were that the bird (named "Dick" in heather-booted Florentine wastes of tongue) would keep on with the lay, excitedly hamming out those ovarine sequences like a bunny dribbling its m&m's all March-long, but ach... too fetid a fantasy to be true! Treasons and season switches, well, the rest is on your own goad.
Awww fuggit, here's another-- as follow-up to the Suntag piece (which has a fatter, happier uncle feel compared to this one). Explanation? Bah. I was dosed up on the high wind, so I made this one today after the power came back on, rather elated (made me wanna hit things). Ye shoulda' seen the ocean, man. Smunch!
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