by Brian McCloskey
All the day I am an object of laughter, everyone mocks me. Fine towels are friendliness. The squirrel wasn’t going anywhere. For some reason I have to be in a certain mood to eat lettuce. And indeed they did, in skirts, pantyhose and high heels. It is an exercise in sexual physics. Three lesbians on a dangerous mission. Does anyone hear me complaining about the breasts? That’s pretty strong rust. I think it moved. He doesn’t have to see the pole. You could ride a walrus to work. There’s nothing like a Spanish dancer to take the paint off. That guy hates raccoons. I am the florist who is filled with mood. You can’t hear a pod. You preferred to be a lunatic. She’s wearing beige hosiery. Those shoes look Canadian. My daughter likes my chicken neck. And he finishes with a plum. You may be liable to be knocked down without an option. I saw the long seam of her stocking as she leapt for the tailboard. Your natural enemy is a lemon. What was sensible about a budgerigar? I can’t get this blasted pair of tights out of my beaker. And the horse sneezed back at him. And she won’t even give you a tumbril. Obsidian tastes of licorice. Gently glide your weasel.