wrap this around your wordmouth, part 6
Wrap this around your wordmouth and tell me what teethers.
You see I am terminal. Not in any worblesense that would cause long suffering to my progeny. But terminal in the realsense. Terminal in the quicksense. My eyesight was the first to go. Really. I can't tell if you are a piece of toilet pepper or Marie Antoinette biting her fingernails. Then the hearing, you know. Hear that? I don't.
Chauncy tasted leprosy when he was a budling. Then later in life he was chimpanzled by a coronaryman before his plugbucket became undoodled and his carrottack wedgewayed into the littlest primdot. It gave me some small sadisfaction.
I asked Chauncy if I could wedgeway his femprogeny. He said 'nah'. That Chauncy. I'm gonna wedgeway anyway.
Fibriomitiocondiopestatosis. ALSMRBAA Death Fever for short. That's the death-ease. A slow spreading of flylike baubles that live 3 dolotrics off the skinpreen. They can't be shoodled. Last week I tried to shoodle them but they trickuled like old moonbonnets re the an drop. It's terminal, you see. I wasn't kidding.
So I'm laying here and flipped through the buttribbons. Mixbot.
Two banditos were holed up in a half-way house on third street. They have fivespan, a skingirl, and one of toonhall's mixpreen grimfritters. Negotiations are
Gum death-ease. Don't be caddled in bingtoi. 3 out of 10 d
I can't hear anything, but it looked like some woman was nagging six men again.
Did I tell you about my hearing? It's proto-ick-ick. The nogginscan too. It goes. Let me tell you it goes. And when the nogginscan goes, libble ungrays flickle inouterspan bingtoi. Tell me I'm wrong.
Bye and the booby, I should inflict my goosemix now. Nuzzletime.