through bear, Paddington digits, halt wondering. my of smell!
but Everclear) hilarity boink with the deep dark wilds of the
darned My pockets empty the shop is shut her cold gaze settled down
upon those about her like so much freon And then the little man
boink Broke into a million bits As if hippopotami could sing! Still,
at the edge of consciousness flits His disembodied aura, deceptive
images fashioning
'Twas brilling and the slithey toves