Woe is me...Will someone flush the tank with out flushing the last remaining pup or at least cast a spell so moat drains into the river. And so began another strange tale. Gracie dragged herself from the moat coat dripping wet before the lifeboat emerged from the mists of time. Pulling in close to the shore, the waves began rolling, churning, spraying. Gracie whined unhappily, "All is lost".
With the exception that someone, somewhere,wants beagle cuteness and a pint of beagle pee in exchange I'll dance a tango with a plum up my nose preparing for a Scottish bagpipe to be inserted into the correct place. Nasty stuff, this plum is mouldy! It's plum moldy! We'll have to make some penicillin or plum jam for the English to clean their horse brass hangings.
The tango began with ‘Dawnsio gwerin’. The Baptists protested and started running in rhythm with the dangly bits of the Methodists in their mouths. Effortlessly, he then chewed it small and spit it into the collection of rare orchids where they rotted.
Whilst singing ‘Myfanwy’ on Swansea pier, into rolling waves they cast their lines of best nets, expecting to catch a mermaid with golden locks -and silver keys! Waves came crashing over his enormous broad hairy shoulders, and boats splintered on his enormous replica of a fat head, like craggy wet rocks covered in black layers of seaweed (aka, in Wales: slimy pungent lavabread) and pink sprinkles of Welsh Lamb with little holes -nearly edible now, but nearly tasting like Welsh lutefisk. Whatever you say!“
Pass the sauce and shut up! Pass the ammunition -with plenty of lovely castor oil for shotgun barrels. Take yourself, privately, and do it! Shoot that bitch!” "You shoot yourself!”
He attached the bayonet. Gracie bit down, shook until the barrels jerked and monkeys tumbled. Parrots lost their right to talk.
Jimmy Buffet sang about Jolly Mons and Polly -about an hour before gulping a marguerite laced with Welsh sea salt -spluttering, as Gracie sailed down the bar, barking and belching. Owain gagged on plenty of cwrw, pulling his hair and scratching his crotchety corgi Carwyn, whilst undoing hispuffy pink pantaloons (regifted by 'Brokeback Madog’ last Christmas) wrapped in dragon themed tissue paper -in perforated rolls from ty bach -10c a sheet!
Then, Gracie ran like the wind for a penny to the nearest hydrant where she sniffed the red hose along its length and sighed contentedly as the fire-engine, clanging noisily, arrived, soaking Gracie wet by the leaking bag of oil Welsh Chef dropped when the pigs started to fly in pink vapours emanating from Brokeback.
Then suddenly, Gracie began to sing barking dog songs -'A Siren's Song'in e-flat minor. Thus it ended!
Seven coracles crashed on the third ululation, scattering bird guano (pigeon poop) onto the pasties filled with some "Chef’s Surprise" –ground Pryderi pig particles purchased fresh from the German Butcher, ‘V R Bratwursts’established in Munich-on-Avon in 1374, petrified German pepperoni laced with French mustard seeds and Walla Walla onions and Welsh mountain 'guess whose' whelks marinaded with Penclawdd cockles!
Gracie ravenously selected her best silverplated doggie dish -nicely coated with Welsh Chef's concoctions dressed with raw eggs and pork garnished with kibbles -and began feasting; -alas, salmonella struck!
updated by @mona-everett: 12/13/15 02:03:48PM
