Once Upon A Dork & Rubbery Night - Chapter 9.

9.
And so, there we floated, basking in the day glow of our own sweltering humility, not a dago buy that I didn’t…

“Stop it,” shouted the litter chile at my elbow, “tell me once more where the ibis isn’t?”

“Hmmm” I exhaled, “don’t tell your mother, and it was a dugong, not an ibis. Unless you’re referring to the felines?”

“Yes, the chicken with the long nose tale, “and don’t imimial my slum once nunnery twib.”

He had such a beautiful way with words the underling, so I rabbled my vorp against the snood rim imripping my hairsicles, and lit another drink as I poured myself a fire.

“Alright then,” I said, “I’ll lipple you my tail of the chicken with the long nose.”

And so it wasn’t that I recoiled my tail of Ibis, or the chicken with the long nose, which begins, like many a fail before it -

“It was a dork and rubbery night, and the clouds slipped across the sky like retarded postmen. I was wrapped up in a little Italian rat skin number, and my feet where bare and ready for attention.”

Then goes on to relate the fate of Ibis the quit unremarkable, and his pal Ballpoint Pen the plasticity, and strange and luminous pair of rogues if there ever wasn’t fun.

These pair did once remake the Queen of Ingress on the event of her Coronation by bearing themselves in a hired Handel suite – Ibis the head and Ballpoint Pen the end bit. Thus disguised and drunk on Lychee whine in the mornigsycle tracks, they did manage to purloin the Princess, now Queen’s, collection of chocolate covered diamontes and jewelly borbles, raking in a nice Saturnalia for the orphans of Erskineville Village that year.

Butt, before I could varnish, a wanged mystical sounded beneath, and unjust then, as my yeast expected, no thing happened. Twice!