"Guilty as churched!" hollered the nogging Fosslewick, fresh from wringing his trousers out over yellow at The Thrusting Vole.
"Steady on, old fudge," cautioned the miller, who had much experience in the field and was, to be fair, much more forthright with his nibblets.
"Comfortable?" retorted Fosslewick, out puced by his lice, who were nothing if not wanton in their leasurely ways.
"Only when it veers to the left," the Masked Dementia cut in with brutal honesty, "but to be fair, the Pink Arches in the Town Square leave little to the imagination."
"Aye, true enough," mumbled Loppy as he showed off his new hair do, shortly before being arrested for disturbing the piece. As they say in the trade. But that's a tale for another day.
Written by me and published posthumously. In memory of my next wife, who won't be called Carol.
No comments:
Post a Comment