"Ixnay theah stepney childrenay
"BOOK. And stop talking pug Latin please, you'll corrupt my children." Robot-dancing children, some tall, some short whikiwheered their ways over to a knot of grownups. Everyone had a lot of projects on their plates and like diplomats were dividing vacation zones into spheres and zones.
A third understudy for Lucille Ball slipped her way out of a vat of grapesmashing. Huh, someone grabbed a baby's "spit up" towel and made a desperate attempt to clean up the filthy tracks left behind from a gradual stomp over to the aw-dervs. Little hot dogs in pastry. The hiked up skirt fell to ankle length as a woman, an actual, biological woman took a babe in arms. "Did y'all leave me out of a literary discussion?"
"Stop it. Stop it," another lady air-grabbed for the towel. She tried to stop the man's obsessive compulsions to clean and not to waste. "That's why we're doing this outside this time," a lady in the vat waved her hand at the beautiful sunshine. "Fresh air," started a man in a moustache, "And far less cleanup," the handwaving lady announced okay day, okay with this much work.
"How difficult?" Another man asked while taking the baby. "Quite," said a person in a typecast Detective "get up" holding a magnifying glass to fingernails to affirm that an impeccable manicure had been given the man. "It's very simmulahr." A person on Nana's golden phone sounded trying to convince the MOST most famous Director in the world.
"What is?" Different people asked simultaneously of difficult and similar.
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