Started by Mona Everett on September16, 2009 at 4:47 pm in Three Word Story Group
The Fantastical Blue Bovine of Caergybi
It came to a rest upon streets of concrete searching for bulls or accommodating passersby. Our heroine realized 'twas market day and Ifans tarw was $7.99/lb. A rare breed in Cardigan market...more rare than Cardiganshire financial prudence!
She mourned his loss, loudly mooing "Please don't eat the stewing steak try the chicken it's free range..., a healthy choice." The sun shining over Gardigan Bay an unusual sight with autumn coming and leaves falling on the breeze and Dafydds' chickens reproducing like rabbits while roaming free on Ffosyffin common all made Blodeuwedd play air ukelele like a violin virtuoso in the darker musical arts of Hogwarts school
"Et tu, Severus?"
Blodeuwedd hoofed it down to Spar's for two cans of Brains cwrw on the way from Cardiff Brewery. She drank heavily and slyly vomited behind the hedges as she went. A pig commented "Who was that? Left us breakfast?" Cold oysters quivered in a sauce of brandy wine. Let's dig in to this delicious flavoured laver bread scented with groins ... I found truffles, truffles and loins amidst other Welsh delectable delights of teisen lap.
Surprise! In the corner, from his enormous percolating passion pod aboard SS Starbuck on the Teifi a big kerfuffle developed into a major international incident. Strong men fainted. Fifteen ferocious forwards finally funneled Felinfoel. Through the smallest valleys outside, half fainted in fright; others feigned fright, but Ianto didn't. He stood up amidst the prostrate. That's my cow in the mire! Mair, my cow! Ianto, clutching his “Grimpen dear Holmes?”, gyda ei law, frantically strumming ‘Banjo’, the sheep dog. Funny name..... ‘Banjo’, mused Ianto, strumming ‘Bashing the bishop’.
Mrs. Griffiths leaned on the bishop, pinching his lupins saying, "What a strange situation, bishop! How's yer father?”
Ianto, interceding, said “All is lost!” “All? Who's lost??" The rugby ball was wedged into a black hole of Calcutta proportions. Loud howls began as it dilated, blowing out wind. The very unfortunate town of Llandeilo abandoned its hopes of soup de jour. But instead, menu collections included pips and neti pots served cool with Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch pickled ferrets.
The glass cow is fragile and a little headstrong and throws stones, but nevertheless is . . . The washboard king sang his song whilst playing with his barbells, showing his considerably grand recepticles while chewing on brussels sprouts mixed with Welsh cockles and oysters. Madame Griffiths flexed her large extraordinary muscular, hairy arms - and large men - and continued doing her makeup while Llapgoch fighters flew on the wing.
Blodeuwedd wanted milking so the farmer gripped her firmly. Orgasmically she weeeeeeeeeeeen't whilst he tenderly crooned a tuneless, unmelodic and painful symphony for bovines on a Welsh bagpipe from Pennard. Blodeuwedd mooed harmoniously using a tiptronic, which is painful if administered improperly! However, her next trick was incredible; she actually danced ‘Dawns y glocsen’ while mooing carefully, milking machine attached carefully to each big round teat.
There's no justice! Whilst handling his farm chores, Evans quoted legal cases!
Whilst still dancing a frisky reel, clogs a blur, both brooms crossed light of foot, but heavy heart, he danced between two big cows. The cow collapsed in a waltz, sending milk spraying over Evans' large metal turnstile. The hinges gradually creaked to Addams Family hammy sound effects, 'Turnstile of Dreams', adding suspense to the original bovine its glass fracturing, mooing and snorting, its hoof scratching red poppy, spreading a brief tattoo on his rump. He scratched his roast USDA Prime and spake thusly, “Spare me some ribs” , twitched an eyebrow and ordered T-bone marinaded with jam and cheese topped with Celtic string cheese designs – ‘know’, and ‘how’. To accompany this, he guzzled cider.
“Thus it ended – again”, he replied. Little did he expect udder comments, but he milked continuously until his stool popped out, tumbled head over heels into the lake of yoghurt forming around Blodeuwedd's chocolate shop and swam miraculously to the Bunny Planet . . . under marmalade skies .. . with sticky humidity and silently concluded he couldn't write and chew gum and recite the story’s imminent end.
updated by @mona-everett: 12/15/15 01:43:35AM