i woke up this morning and a severed unicorns head was lying next to me. the blood was seeping onto myself as well as the sheets. i could only muster up the mental energy to conclude that the horn would be of good use to me as a back scratcher, although i would much rather have a white rhino horn.
a knock on the door came rather abruptly when the labrador walked in, accompanied by the dodobird who was holding a candlestick in his beak. much to my suprise the candlestick spoke first "cockateal cockateal cockateal miss beale". labrador paid no attention as he generally does and continued to sniff at the dodobirds ass, who paced back and forth attempting to reveal the source of his slightly erotic discomfort.
no need i thought, for the painting of junkies was now beginning to dip with what seemed to be a seemingly endless flow of ectoplasmic white goo from ears and mouth. the wind rushes through hall, creeping through the narrow slits of creeking locked doors. I hide in one of these, guess which...number 13. barely concealed but hopeful, blackout, blackout.
i had no doubt in my mind that when i opened my eyes dead children would be circled around me. quite similar to gullivers travels in an obscure manner, but i had no choice now for curtis turtis tortise turtle would never make the walk up the staircase even to the 2nd floor in time to assess the situation.
and yet when i awoke i was not surrounded by the children who had tied me down, however, as i have been found out only by mr. stardust. i was walking the tightrope line that is the roof, foot over foot over foot over foot, quite seamlessly if you might ask. it was only in my unconcious state that i had managed to successfully navigate such a task.
and now for the fall. into of all places the fishtank that was ever so carefully placed by myself yet 2 hours prior to this entire sequence of amorously fashioned events.
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