As I came running like a rocket, like a peanutbutter-fuelled spinster, this small midget character stops me in the very middle of my stride, and looks at me.
And he nods all midgety and cheesy at me, and I don't know what to say.
He inspects me with his tiny little guinea pig eyes, and then go:
"Come on, you brassy shrew, get in my hamper."
It had been quite a long time since I was ordered into a hamper, must've been yonks:
so I need a moment to think, and I say to him:
"Easy now, linty little man-cherry".
But as I wait I realize that he has the face of a toffee-licked bickie, and in the end his greasy tache makes my knees go weak.
And I stumble over the little midget, and he screams and waves with his stumpy little arms while he flail his short feet.
But it was too late, I could feel him get squeezed down into the asphalt like an outchewed piece of gum, and I am too confused to do anything about it.
When I finally get up, he looks like a small, purple poptart. All curdly and crumbly, like he was never moist at all.
That is when I remember: Oh! The lobsters! And I rush off towards the mountains again.
by
