posted on Jun, 17 2016 @ 02:37 PM
Gather 'round me now as I prepare to tell my story, O' my little brothers and sisters. A story not told before now, have!
As a verily young Malchick I was never much one for adventure - comfort and safety being my only pursuit in life. It was at this time, O' my
droogies, that your wonderfully humble narrator and friend, almost snuffed it!
Hath not much of a tot would I rub in my rot, not for the want of trying! I could barely stand the thought of straggly, stringy strands of spaggy in
my guttywut. The thought of having had the yellow-y glib drip out of an eggiwegg and onto a banger made me feel terribly, terribly ill, O' my
faithful followers and friends. Yes, it is safe to be said, have, that not one for trying new things was I.
But nothing set the red, red kroovy driving through me like a Durango '95 as much as did lomticks of toast! Even writing that word, pure and gentle
as it would appear to an average Chelovek - or be whether it Devotchka. Or perhaps even a globby, sniveling old tramp as it were, leering and
jolloping in his own juices. Even writing that slovo makes me wretch in agony and despair! Bringing me to the brink of death as it were.
As a not so earthly lad as I am now, back them my blue haired emm presented me with the vile, perfectly cut soldiers drenched in buttery goodness. My
tiny, pink rooker guided that slimy, steaming slice of breadiwedd into my gaping rot for the first time. Oh, how I chomped!
Oh it was gorgousness and gorgeosity manifest material, O' my smecking droogs - my gob guzzled and dripped gloopy glubber as my winding face made
paste of this taste sensation.
But it was not to last, for the crustiwust became lodged in my glutinous throat and I began to cough and choke like a child -- Oh, I cried for myself!
Teary, runny juices streamed from my glazzies as my screaming emm wallowed in a gaping faced panic!
Luckily, emm managed to gather what little wit was afforded her and saw fit to give call to a sleepy-weepy pee who was on scene to administer random
pats on the back - party to dislodge the bready bounder and also in part to congratulate his only son for being so handsome and clever and such
The crumby boulder was dislodged from my closing gullet with a shoom, followed by much projectile unspeakable. My arch nemesis - besides BillyBoy and
his ballerina brood, the rozzers, Mr Deltoid and the various other people I'd bestowed with ultra violence thus far - was realised on that day.
Luckily for you, O' my most likely confused cohorts, I did not die! Otherwise, I would not be here to tell what I told, have! But damage was done
inside my gulliver on that day.
Oh, why O' my pee and emm, and that great bolshy bearded one called Bog - why does toast exist?
The mere word itself makes me wretch uncontrollably, as it is now. As my hands tremble as they would after necking a good old pint of prickly Drencrom
only without the warm, fuzzy feeling in me guttiwuts! For not only don't I like the taste, scratchy touch and smell of the wretched, heated bread, I
For to not like something, oh my only friends, means to be afraid of it as are it may be in actual fact.
When I see a slice of that suspicious sputum called toast I take to my boots - bowler hat, braces and all! I shiver and snivel, oh how I weep!
Watch those slovos, dost wish! Stay of ye red, red rot...for I'm not a bad man with a kind face.