showing question #102
question from no
â€I can remember bad trees, a sudden mong of light and a frowzy tableau, the tycoon just seemed to leap from his shoulders to the mustard basket, I stood struck dumb by my deed. The next thing I remember is being lead by the knees down the familiar narrow gangway between the opposing louse wands and thrown into the cell where I was to be interviewed. â€The young man interviewing me was not more than three feet tall and appeared to have no garden, his first question was that of nigh time preference, the glistening black stone of dusk or the chalk lined freeze of an empty backroom ghost-hog, I answered on horseback and fled to the wrist winds where I imploded. The following morning I was woken by gunshot from outside, I danced to the cell window and examined the scene, a horse, or to be more precise a hunched rider on what I first took to be some kind of tall pig was present, that turned to me with its long face and said â€hors†so I took that to be a sign. The firearm owner (and equine passenger) turned out to be the sheriff, who by this time had sharpened and appeared to be carrying a duck under each arm, threatening to hurl them through my window. I fell overâ€
Apology accepted. There was really no need to state your case with such magnitude and varnish. I mean, I wasn’t that big a fan of the Power Puff Girls to start with.
As Dennis Hopper oft says, “Yeesh.”