Soldier forth for brighter days (and tastier mango doughnuts)
A slip of the wrist and a drip from the mouth... the green dream drips from my brain and saturates my teeth with ultimate satiety. For, friends and atomizers, I must announce that I am WELL ON MY WAY
The trek down the underwater tunnel highway was proving to be laborious and slow (slothful?). Morale was low, and Samuel Smiles began cursing Richard Nixon every step of the way after the last marshmallow granola bar had been heartily consumed. I was determined, but my stalwart (bulwark?) companions were inclining to say 'To heck with our friendly friend Alvin Stomack, and may his intestines rot in some old bucket that livestock swine dine from daily withal!" But just as the end of my quest seemed to be firmly approaching metaphorical visibility (photon-receptive lens; infrared not good enough), the lisp of luck whispered staunchly in my ear in the form of sound of rubber contacting pavement; and we all turned in amazement to behold my janitorial companion and fellow philosopher Sally Upchuck pumping away at the peddles of a six-rider (6) bicycle belt, able to maintain upright velocity thanks only to the assistance of my faithful (and well-dressed) vervet monkeys, eeping and cheering her on and tasting bananas and bombardier beetles. Patting the out-of-breath and winded (windless) Sally on the back, Alain pausing to kiss her on the tip of her nose, we all boarded the elongated bike contraption, and now after little time we are almost to the Christmas Island junction.
Oh, Samuel is indicating that I should put my computer away and concentrate on peddling. That's easy for him to say! He hasn't had to stare at his overalled posterior for the past two hours!!!
The trek down the underwater tunnel highway was proving to be laborious and slow (slothful?). Morale was low, and Samuel Smiles began cursing Richard Nixon every step of the way after the last marshmallow granola bar had been heartily consumed. I was determined, but my stalwart (bulwark?) companions were inclining to say 'To heck with our friendly friend Alvin Stomack, and may his intestines rot in some old bucket that livestock swine dine from daily withal!" But just as the end of my quest seemed to be firmly approaching metaphorical visibility (photon-receptive lens; infrared not good enough), the lisp of luck whispered staunchly in my ear in the form of sound of rubber contacting pavement; and we all turned in amazement to behold my janitorial companion and fellow philosopher Sally Upchuck pumping away at the peddles of a six-rider (6) bicycle belt, able to maintain upright velocity thanks only to the assistance of my faithful (and well-dressed) vervet monkeys, eeping and cheering her on and tasting bananas and bombardier beetles. Patting the out-of-breath and winded (windless) Sally on the back, Alain pausing to kiss her on the tip of her nose, we all boarded the elongated bike contraption, and now after little time we are almost to the Christmas Island junction.
Oh, Samuel is indicating that I should put my computer away and concentrate on peddling. That's easy for him to say! He hasn't had to stare at his overalled posterior for the past two hours!!!