Originally Posted by montsnmags
The finagling teapot winks at the noonday moon, dipping his fedora to the speckled duck. The eggs are sleeping, but with the 'morrow comes their triumph and access to smoked swordfish, inhaled from jumbo rolls of Tally-ho, using a real roach for a clip, and burnt fingernails for flavour.
Scramble! The beater comes! and has another post-coital piscatorial puff.
The blue side of the moon winks back, chuckles, and the tide is turned.
Filibustering quails. Hah!
Yours and mine,
The Stuttering Walrus (Goo...goo...good job)
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