It was dark in the jumble, the mighty jumble, where the mighty typers lie. It was quiet too. Too quiet. So quiet anybody who wasn’t there might have asked that Asian question, “If a tweet fools less than half the people all the time, is there noise?’ But Babbling Bob was there, talking darthly to himself like his own invasion and chuckleheading, ‘Who turned off the lights? O right. I did. Hee, hee, hee.’
So it war Bumbling Bob went out cougar humping one night in the dark with his elderfunk and gun. Like always, to cause accidents, he took his mob. Now Bungling Bob was a man of abnorman proportions such that the animate creepers of this mighty jumble wished he wasn’t there, like one more too many of an oiled-American bulletheaded sack of fucking Mother Nature’s son.
‘What a jackwhorse!’ the laughy harheener said.
‘What a blardhorde!’ quibbed the bahbooms.
‘Like an under rage ignoronomous,’ simeoned the oraunchietan monkeying under the table.
The lion was concerned. ‘Who is this hunting me?’
“That’s Bobblehead Bob, the great wide hunter,” the hippypottymiss speeched uproyalously. “He’s the arsehole who never puts down the toilet seat for feemales and parks his fat Rolls in the handy capitalust spots of the lepers and the rabids of the caravan.”
As it termed out, the Bobblehead Blob and his elderfunk back bummed into each other in the dark of this mighty jumble, taking each other by surprise such that the Baublehead Blob shat himself, though never admitting this much. Instead, feeling brown lewdwarm water trickling down his leg the Barbiehead Blob anounsed, “Am I Soiling Arabia or am I feeling my own effects of globble warming? I demand a culprat!” At which gunpoint, this Captain Marblehead unzipped his trunks and shot his elderfunk, an anus crime against a mammal to be sure, or like something done with a preverbial sheepharder’s pecker.
The children on standby were appalled, and asked him if to kill was not a sin.
“Not if the fees are good,” his mobbers butted in. “If Bobbling Bob hadn’t shot him first the elderfunk would have romped or stomped or tromped all over us, or something wars like in a Turkish ambushy. That bimbo had become an obamanation.”
It is shamfully trumpling the things people will do in sell defense or for blob money. This true story actually happened.