Selections from my Forthcoming Children's Book

Chapter Two:

Run through with an errant Oscar Meyer package of so-called luncheon meat delights, I'm of the mind that if the Blorg Lord of the Pungent Swipe Rags of Toddly of Irkham's got a taste for hot turds served steaming over a platter of my own gelatinized tears...welll...well, indeed...he can eat unprocessed raisins from the downspout of my own yelpling's gutter prayers.

Then Theodore opened fire.


Chapter Three:

Or I will...steeped in my own rendered knee slatherings. The taters take note and flinch when the downpour of Ouchy Nourishing Sluice spatters hither and non 'bout their potentially edible sploochiness.

Ed tips back a thermos full of fermented sock waste and ponders Idaho.


Chapter Four:

Like opposing walls of a gulch, Sheriff Loink and Arch-Duke Fluppity train steely eyes 'pon one another.

A vulture emitted a high-pitched ass squelch of three-day old carcass batter.

It.
Was.
On.

Meanwhile in Tempest Rolo's Travelling Poodler of Delight, the grunts overheard by the hired hand were mistakenly identifed as foul beasts working the maples for the Sap of the Most Vile.


Chapter Five

Spent...the Lords of Cinematic Ogling scrummed into a ball of myraid limbs and, eventually, a prismatic spray of Ooomph that startled the Elder Pants.


Chapter Sick:

The wrenching in my lower portion were clearly (after adjusting my rakish monocle) the result of a lumbering anthropomorphic toss rag--with a two-fer-one deal at the prosthetics factory warehouse--getting a sound ladle-turned-clinch 'pon the areas most of us in the Toot Huffing Sweat Lodge Community ref'd as Patella Town...or Bendy Sqaure.

T