BRAIN WORD BOOYA SLURRY

Today is the first day of the last day of the other day of the rest of the life of a besotted artiste--sans razor...and pants--and three other recovering fop-aholics trapped in a homemade Bouncy Town of their own design (rejected by the City Council as Too Suggestive and would Invite Errant Turgidity in the Loins of the Unsuspecting Roving Clutches of Urchlings...THINK OF THE FILTHY PUDDING CHILDREN); The Seventh Son of a Seventh Bum lacks the Skills and Fortitude to Warble his--and their--Way out of This Kerfluffle. Take note of the Notes I have scrawled 'pon these Crepes in a Drizzling of Sploo from the Pantry Panties of Yesterday's Strumpet.