The never-ending story in three word segments...

[Robert Hughes]

was off limits

[Fazby]

because vegetables tend

[MYU]

to cause gas

[Robert Hughes]

when served with

[Treehugger]

"Oxford" brain sandwiches.

[Robert Hughes]

We pause now

[Bearcat]

 

for a word

[Michael W]

from our sponsor

[Robert Hughes]

who has refrained

[Fazby]

from opining on

[pmorin]

this thead.

 

Sasquatch.

 

 

[Michael W]

unable to find

[pmorin]

Edit: To summarize our current position.....

 

Once there was a fountain pen with magical properties. One of those was to never run out of the best quality glossy black ink. Ink made of liquidized camel droppings and prepared by Toasterpastry's midget sidekick also known as the ink man. Then one day, the unthinkable happened. The pen's master, evil apprentice Nibnomore played lacrosse with Toasterpastry's midget sidekick, who broke his camel dropping liquidizer which resulted in the beginning of an ink shortage of epic proportions throughout the land, people had to shamefully beg for ink gravied potatoes to squeeze the said potatoes in a wet sack.

 

Then someone realized the magical properties of the ink had worn off. Suddenly, foul-smelling cheese from Nibnomore's lunch melted to form Noodler's Cheez Whiz, odd yellow ink that clogged pens. But magical drops of Pinot Noir almost instantly formed a bubbly concoction tickling and inebriating all the senses including the sixth..., the Written One; grasping dagger, rose. A young inkmaker, who was colorblind, unknowingly discovered that imbibing the ink caused one's head to severely implode! Emitting a greenish little Martian, who despite the fact of his small and odd shaped eyeglasses, could see red ripple watermans! Confused, he asked "how to sleep??!?!"

 

Strange dreams morphed Fort Madison mourners into fountainpen armed visored scriveners writing a devilish plan one which would alleviate the lack Of Love's dance a distant threnody played on kazoo "STOP IT NOW!" sang the chrous as rain fell Slowly the rain upon the moor. Legend has it that one can kiss me tomorrow. he sky is... a purple haze as we wait for the inevitable delivery of pizza. Square, cold pizza and, naturally, beer like Mamma made from organic barley and Chinook hops from the western-most regions of the Snowdonia mountains except, Mamma's beer had the effect of numbing your writing hand and left leg entirely but not unenjoyably as it always caused uncontrollable hallucinations when staring into deep pools of marinara sauce with meatballs on top due to allergies and sauce stains.

 

When the delivery was opened by... Mr. Potato Head he promptly fainted. Mrs. Potatohead screamed! "Too many carbs!!!!" pass the sauce yelled three delinquents, covered in ink and smelling of ...gangrenous abdominal evisceration Which wasn't peculiar. in this setting The Potatoheads ate three square meals, not circular ones, primarily sliced velveeta, with marinara sauce, with side salad. Insolent endive choked pleas emanated from ToasterPastry's midget sidekick.

 

"I gotta go!"

 

"Where?" you ask.

 

Tell you what, information forthcoming will give you all advance information re: the sauce's ingredients. Just remember that this information is strictly confidential and will self destruct utilizing nuclear powered, ultra high efficiency, habanero hot sauce found only in deep steamy caverns of northern Saskatchewan.

 

Next, we need a needle-nose pliers and facial scrub, carefully collected in a small Ziploc bag so it will not spontaneously devolve into a morass of electrically charge guacamole dip.

 

Having survived that thy decided to write about it.

“Dearest Father Toasterpastry,” please, forgive me for I have sinned against Pendom, Gödel’s incompleteness theorem, destroyed by Vogons, reassemble, incompletely, by the Doctors sonic screwdriver, which couldn’t resist over-tightening the restraining bolt that the chastity belt required to prevent unauthorized premature inking.

 

Cellos softly sang my whole life, heartrendingly extolling upon the trials of installing laminate flooring. After spilt ink created a Rorshach on the ceiling in blood red and saw Daddy.

 

Toasterpastry screamed maniacally "Why did you eat my meatballs with spaghetti and aged Romano cheese? Were there no other culinary options at Dairy Queen?"

 

"New Menu," said, a crazy pirate stroking his beard, "can order anything he wants to."

 

He ordered mini-marshmallows soaked in rum flambe, with a side of herring. Waving his hook at his parrot which oddly enough appeared totally indifferent. Enraged, he took the server by his red feet and turned to his trusty servant, and ordered him a Harvey Wallbanger, shaken, not stirred. Mister Wallbanger complained, tossing flaming mini-marshmallows in the direction of the parrot. Flaubert's Parrot squawked!

 

Shrieking, enflamed, aflame, immolated, and empassioned, and royally (oops!), he then ordered a bucket full of brass tacks distributed liberally across the entire spectrum of the light dancing on the ship's fore deck because he misunderstood what the monkey gesture REALLY meant in monkey land. The poop deck, covered with poop, was targeted for cleanup by Nibnomore after he finishes drawing the sunrise over Bora Bora - once he can turn slowly eastward, learn to draw, and conquer his lust for transvestites who lust back. A transvestite himself he could easily be swayed by a cappuccino machine and a biscotti. Biscotti by moonlight transformed him into the Evil Lord Pendergas who also grew petunias for sale by moonlight during the month that Fort Madison allows duck hunting. Arming the ducks gave them advantage over drunken parrots who were nevertheless protected only by steroid induced rage.

 

Toasterpastry and Nibnomore finished their drinks, gathered their courage, grabbed their mops, one flaming parrot, two fountain pens, and passionately kissed. Celluloid flames erupted, fueled by Vacs' meatballs and spaghetti, causing the lovers to start dieting and compulsively jazzercising!

 

The results were without question the only thing that baffled the pirate.

 

Meanwhile, flaming parrot feathers fell freely onto the psychopathic dragon with scales, mostly minor diatonic, and even Mixolydian, that he played the harmonica with a band of wandering minstrels and Neal Cassady himself.

 

"The Jazzercise cassette in the karaoke machine was slippinginto prestissimo mode!" Toasterpastry gushed, "I'd ... rather sing tosober listeners, but who's sober in a place with decor like this? Open the windows! Publish this please!"

 

"In your dreams!" screamed the denizens of Mister Roger'sNeighborhood bar and Pachinko parlour, where patrons lined up in the hopes of winning gilded bottles of Noodler's Jamaica rum ink, served with nachos topped with extra jalapenos and refried winos who had belched toxic vapours whilst inking their pet ferrets. Surprisingly, Dylan Thomas arrived, whoever he was, and went gentle into the Pachinko tavern and died.

 

Immediately the crowd tossed tokens towards the corpse, which imediatley sat upright! Then croaked again expelling excessive flatulence, clearing the room.

 

The drunken parrot began singing the Frank Sinatra song about "New York" and musical beans called 'Summer Wind keeps blowing in like legume flatulence.'

 

The doctor remarked "Beenz meenz Heinz", and shot the parrot with his compressed methane powered syringe of medicine, causing it to squawk excitedly while morphing into a real estate agent eating fountain pen.

 

Toasterpastry sighed demurely, "These hallucination are the reason I switched allergy medicines."

 

Suddenly a shot or two of Drambuie appeared in front of the pen, which dipped nib first into glorious, rich, dark ink, made from the parrot's droppings.

 

Noodler's promptly inquired "Is that a real usable ink?"

 

The parrot replied "It doesn't matter because it's bulletproof. For proof, look into your heart, but don't forget your car's roof crushed by elephants still has bird poop encrusted everywhere. What next Fazby? Consummatum est, altecniblick! Holy cow Batman! It ain't over, nor will it ever end, because the fat lady has not eaten."

 

Hallucinating parrots shouldn't plead for crackers whilst imitating Cagney in "White Heat". Cheese crackers with even cheezier stories, and saying "CHEESE" to the camera set on auto-focus.

 

Meanwhile,back at Harvey Wallbanger's saloon headquarters, everyone was planning solutions to the latest invasion of pen snatchers. knocking back brewskis , congratulating each other on another successful trip to a McDonald's play space. "Where's my Big Mac?" Lloyd slurred before vomiting carrots as he's vegetarian. But nobody's perfect! Just well done. Yakking about carrots was off limits because vegetables tend to cause gas when served with "Oxford" brain sandwiches.

 

We pause now for a word from our sponsor who has refrained from opining on this thread: Sasquatch

 

Unable to find

 

that most fabled

Edited March 7, 2009 by pmorin

[Lloyd]

unlucky rabbit's foot,

[Fazby]

which, when held

[Michael W]

made Rabbit scream

Edited March 7, 2009 by Michael W

[Pippin60]

whats up doc?

[Fazby]

To which, Parrots

[Michael W]

always quickly reply

[pmorin]

"Why do you