Her highly floppy flabble robbled to and fro, moving to
delight in scents as forth and back to go did highly floppy
flabber with dancing eyes reflect that this with that's a
chafing dish, to bill and coo too great effect. His lowly
lordly ladle contained yet unrestrained thought without much
thinking till it bluely verily stained and then began his
shrinking as many tails attest in tales as tolled men's
inking soothed, odd reasoned at is best.
Will he would he wonder that all might seethe the day when
highly floppy flabber would tear such masks away. All kings'
horses and all queens' men tried to stopper one bottle, but
all this did was sure to do: it opened wide the throttle,
for of our tails and tales entails such a seamy see me life,
wherein two asinine entities might cuckoo man too wife.
Hilarious cackles, vanities' fairs, market stalls stocked
and priced with tall tales' tails unending proving the
willing act sufficed. Will he won't hilarious across
histories' shifting sands which tell retell with footnotes
of swells and swelling glands.
One moniker sticks, the yikes of her, to adventures big and
bold recounting tawdry episodes, the old story growing old,
for older by far the very same as stories, centuries gray,
recount many manly vote for the power filled and their prey.
For the nonce, sense sends what's ever always come, when the
supposed brightest blunder and to stupidity succumb.
For the nonce celled in prison, the one who escapes the most
is for the nonce the nonce who as publican can boast, when
flying high and higher on rehabilitations' breeze tells a
truth worth telling of party boy tricks and sleaze. The
measuring sticks are magic changing measures all at ease
with ever-changing measures of adults and adulteries. Nonce
sends all this message, to this and that alike, that
nonsense is most sensible like the fabled finger in the
dike. Flood the world with tales and sure wetting is
assured; but much dries instantaneously painting all
pictures then as blurred.
There's a reason in a rhyme when rime will form and haze to
cover clarified vision as time seeks to dimly daze what was
once clear, occluded, excluded by most folks, that these,
with their characters' foibles, are purveyors of not sense
Bee, jay, blue jay, birdie, have you any shame? No sir, I
have not, sir, for Teflon coats my name, out from under
scrutiny with explanations rare, to tell my truth worth
telling, that truth is oft unfair. Speak not longer, word it
not, the tale of the blue blood spot. It's not a tale worth
telling, except when telling all a lot. Details entail the
tale of her highly floppy flabber, as they tell of the
exposé which erupts yet again to gabber. Trivial talk is
talk for the nonce, as published again and now, of a
barnyard cock and his hens and even of his cow.