Natural Surrealist Party

"She's no fun, she fell right over."

~ Gruntled on Athyria

Long before the gilded age of Illogicopedia's "Magnetic Conundrum" days, in days of yarr, was the Natural Surrealist Party. We are still thrusting Papoon to the fore of presidential politics and ranch dressing. Stultifying grumbling rods ferried the crows of instability to lethal ends. This, I swear, is true.

When women among us proclaim dexterity, all must submit and listen to their feminine wisdoms. If alpacas are ignored, they are so done as done to them, is the wont of a polecat.

Eaves moisten their √-1 lips in anticipation of demigod channeling. Other than the monkeys, everyone poached their eggy weggys one at a time. As the generators spattered power in back up, red phones lit up all higgledy piggledy, and the hammer dropped. Lama dama ding dongs dinged without cause until they didn't any more... then the gamma rays became obvious.

No Japanese or Korean people were harmed during this writing. In fact, as I pen this deep and darkening glamor fab into your mindy brain, several butcher's aprons began to fabricate among themselves. Why?

Why not? Apoplexy notwithsitting, we gabbled the catwalks with disdain. Report all disobedience to George Papoon immediately to Reverend Zim_ulator for justice and proper disposal of sanitary pedestals. Regard! Amok! Amok!

• Vanity
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