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Lynn Behrendt

Did you hear — Pinky Snortbutton proclivitized the socialist schemes vehemently.
Then when snuffle sharded Hairy Humbug repented,
the whoopsies who lived in the stone forest next door actualized plentiful anyway.

Meanwhile Piggy Sleuthbrethren rekindled those waxen imaginariums
and started slinking toward mayhem. He may or may not hem her in.
He may or may not. Ho hum.

Harmony Spelunker on the other hand was devoted to her shiatzu rhizome dander of
a dharma poodle but when he dabbled her in butterdunder
he clinked glasses with asses.

And then you know what—
He said that she said that he said that she said that she hoped
he would not hem her in. May he not. May he not hem her in.

Hold on just a minute ye wee blinker donkey bucket.
I know what you're thinking.
You're not so shattered.

Matter withers whether biddies bid hither or not.
Weather permitting, leastwise.

Like I was saying.

Stinkfreed Freudelbomber
hi-hoed it on down to the swish-in-the-pish and gave her a what for.
Did she spin her spartan wombat around into his knickerlicker or what.

Gave him a clunk on his dung heap and saddled on out to the heathen hippie coral
you better believe it mavis gave us
all we got scott and thensome.

Sure is quite resplendent to be unthinking on their hurdles, nowadays, isn't it?
It sure is redundant. Sure is a mighty naked shower we got us in, brother
Sure enough is.

Unbound. Unbartered. Regurgitated yet martyred.
Like a sour dilly in the sweet street net.
Longest snooze on the shoal.

Lynn Behrendt

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