Boxing Day Special!

Who poisoned our primate primacy? Invalidated vertical-vertebrate victory? ‘Twas the Venus villains in their moments of truculence, so bustling and mammarious, deep and cavernous like a moistened fig. ‘Twas the taut limbic bubble teeth, the oily meerschaum moneyed cockroachery. Yet none of it compares to a fine grain of flaxen mucus... Look, a wagon of indecision! A brown paperbag of damnation! O you snails of weariness, do avoid the Zippo cliques, you helmeted online dowsers oaring your way to Niger-nirvana: have you lately kissed a midget? Have you ever jellied a hedgehog? You lack so much experience – it could make a concierge blush or wet his pants. Yesterday, my friends, I drowned a lemur – my patience is not Stonehenge; and tomorrow I may fancy an onion bath – my tears will flow like rainwater. So zounds to you, o accomplices of stench! Woe to the wicked that crackle and dance! My brain’s not made of tungsten, I have no good ideas; my insides are polycarbonate; you fools who rub my left index finger, you are like the singular sing-signalizers or malevolent malingerers, and I huff and puff and puke. Has Mabel made you pimple-necked; has Morty stolen every last nickel, or five hours worth of thunder? Hmm, exactly as I thought…. Now lay the peppered parmiggiano lasagna inside my yellow brick oven; greet the plumber on his way down the caboose, hurl cabbages if you like – such vegetables are healthy – or trek the vast white Klondike. Fondle every last bit of plasticine, its furrows are ingenious, it makes gobs and gobs of cents, like friendly Konrad and the lashless Lorenz… Attention all pot-bangers! Your clanging soothes my nerves; call your friends in from the frying-pan orchestra and bash me repeatedly. For I know a purple dinosaur, we call him Garth the Vagabond, he is a pterodactyl, he rhymes in terrifying dactyls – so large, loud and reptilian is crotchety Garth, alone in the dark, perpetually missing the mark with his extinctual existence…

(Merry Christmas!)