***moves comet....empties clip into tennis shoes.... pours goldfish into head-tied plastic bag....goes looking for RT's lost badgers.****checks location of comet...puts on tennis shoes...ties plastic bag over head....*
I'm sorry... this is gibberish to me. But, I bet with a little punctuation, I might be able to discern what you're trying to say.
. , ! ? ""
Better?
Yes. I do see your point now. And to answer your question: Oranges, but only if they're picked on a tuesday.
I'm sorry... this is gibberish to me. But, I bet with a little punctuation, I might be able to discern what you're trying to say.
I'd like some suggestions on the opening of my next crotch novel:
It was a match made in heaven. Laura was a true last-call beauty queen and Larry was voted least likely to get laid by his graduating class.
...
"I wanted to liver but decided to stay cuz no dame could purkle like she could. I threw the asphyxiated hog on the plane like a wet rug in a Chinese laundry and jumped back in the cab."
It was a match made in the back room of a Taiwanese cocaine mill. Not a lot of class but more heat than a Turkish sauna on couples day.
Laura's sexuality staggered into the room six steps ahead of her, while Larry's seemed to follow him like a child's pull-toy. But the fact they walked side-by-side as they entered the auditorium caught everyone's attention.
Sporting sheer, red cellophane wrapped so tightly it left less than nothing to the imagination of the assorted under-aged pimps that frequented the joint, Larry's snowshoes left puddles of mud on the strewn hay floor. Laura, on the other hand, wore the asphyxiated hog spleen like the blue tenth-place badge at a 'nobody loses' zither fest.
"He wouldn't have noticed her at all if he had finished his last summersault. He put the drink down beside the table top and was rewarded by seeing three of her squinting at him.."
He lunged for the one on the right. That usually worked. Something went wrong and he found himself on his back staring up as she stood over him in her plaid mini-skirt. He knew why the Scots had quit wearing kilts.
Badgers? We don't need no steenkin' badgers.Anybody see any badgers?
Hai, Jon-Boy.
Badgers? We don't need no steenkin' badgers.
But...you were waiting for that one, weren't you?
Lions, and tigers, and badgers - oh my