Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Happernackler vs. SM



It a bird. It’s a train. It’s not a train. It’s a plane, jut. You got the saying all wrong. And now I can’t, in good conscious, finish telling the story. So I’ll start in on a new one. It does start the same. Almost. Salmost. It’s a bird. It’s a crane. Its stupidman. He’s not really a crane, or a bird, for that matter. For this matter, however, he should become a bird, since the ever dangerous Happernackler is on the loose. And on the tight. Watch hither for the shiver that is quiveringly coldish. Dervish is my swervish houseman’s shoes. And don’t slide on the way down the stairs, because the stairs are almost salmost the Happernackler’s favorite supply of gold. Stop you cold. Savor the flavor of the haphazard mapperd, he’s only 6 years old. 7 times that is fourty two eleven and that’s Happernack’s favorite crack. And the stairs. And they’re cold.

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