Gurgling Sounds

I've written the following in stone so as not to get it stained with any ketchup or mustard. You must not accompany this story with reading glasses or you will risk seeing undead poultry. I've warned you once, I will do it again, in Won't Land. As you read keep in mind the difficulty I had in scribing this short, enriching, and provocative tale which was not written.

"Long did he search for the artifact, long and arduous was his search. But when the script was found, there was much rejoicing, for it had been found.. for the second time.

However, I regret to inform informants that this 'that' never actually happened."

Orelius Monocles (the third) and his accomplice Sea-fish, were busy making gurgling sounds in the Cardboardian Wetlands; sometimes the lands were dry when giant leaf-blowers, defiant of orders, left their positioned stations. Orelius was terrible at gurgling, and regularly vomited Spaghettio's while trying to play unpopular Christian hymns on an out-of-tune electronic piano. Sea-fish is worth mentioning later and has no importance more important than Squirrel-bait. Also, the kaleidoscope was on sale for $5.95, Orelius has similar eyes. This is their story.

A long time ago in a place, ages ago, Orelius Monocles used to freebase werewolf flesh off the hood of a junked-out Cadillac. Sea-fish came out of the sea, a man-fish with a giant backwards fish head that talked in "Onnnnnggggssss," which were quite strange sounds emitting the odor of a carnivorous Glade plug-in (eating all the sea-food in its path at a chicken restaurant)-- one of these chickens came from the lobster tank. (For reference he was a red and blue chicken depicting references not identified with any foresight.)

This chicken (who was promptly named Normoxor) was wearing a baseball cap and screamed at the top of its chicken lungs, "The future is grabbing me and shaking me around!"

His cap was promptly deep-fried by the future. (For reference it was a red and blue cap depicting future references.)

Orelius Monocles was a one of common sense and rare senselessness; he wore sandle-shoeboots, being the man of such a fantastic trade. A trade so engrossed in Sandocular Studies, that much sand would be eaten and properly disposed of by the year base of 2022. Orelius also gurgled at many of these studies, promptly measuring the amount of sand which could absorb human saliva; sand cookies had not been invented yet, nor had Squirrel-bait been adequately mentioned.

Sea-fish on the other hand, was a retarded rock-collector, whose sole existence was so greatly impertinent that he would go on to build a cyber mosque for Robot Allah and Muhammobo (quality savings and fast delivery be upon him)-- and run the presidential election of Mulak, a deserted city-state consisting of a populace which covered their faces in gadgetical televisiory endowments. Sea-fish always wore strange suspenders with full suits underneath, and long sewer boots of Normoxor-trade, with very blocky ends.

Normoxor was trying to make a comeback but then the future grabbed him, and that was the last of his proxy here. Of distant relation, a bell in the sky would often ring leading to thirty-two cakes landing in strange places. His proxy would not be anywhere else, and at that same moment an obese merchant was devouring his hat.. what horror had befallen Normoxor!

Orelius traveled many places, including up, down, and a lake covered in invisible umbrellas. He did not enjoy traveling to the East of South-West, where many people with missing hands walked in circles and shot at the ground with tranquilizers. Often these tranqulization misconceptions could be reiterated using intense passivism.

This one bearded guy that ran a hot-dog stand was an obese merchant who wouldn't stand for Orelius's shit. The obese merchant would often say things like, "Orelius, your zooming eyes and estranged smile piss me right the fuck off." ..and, "Fuck your mom, Orelius."

Sea-fish would hastily and often reply to such steamed claims with a respectable, "Onnnnnnngggg."

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