Contributor: Michael A. Withell
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“How do you do, Mr. Moo?” Silence. Bovine ignoramus? Nothing more than a mosquito to the majestic brown beast, squeeze and feel him burst between two bloodhungry fingers. Stop, shy away from the lair of the impotent lips; flaccid wet mouth stalking minus a moo (a coo) for how to you do?
“I'm very well, Mr. Moo”. Unregistered. “Care to join me in the tea room for my morning brew?” Nice tea there he's heard; not too bitter and you can admire your face in the convex face of the spoon (convex?) Shiny with no salty stain of sodium. (Lingering crumb hanging from the corner of its mouth).
Thudspreadgrasp. The gate was locked and its eyes remained empty; convex globes of light that only appeared to reflect, deflect, (direct) consciousness into the eyes of the beholder. Diffuse (defuse) the lock and let...
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Author:
Michael A. Withell
