[from Ch. 1 of The Something of the Something Something]
It was speaking to us in colors, latching its urge to the curvy’s ultra bayou. An exertion if I am correct. Then, as we rocked forth, on each side of the Union appeared an unexciting but rather excited petticoat. (I’m trying to say that the petticoat felt a great deal of excitement for us, but we felt little to none for it.) Dr. Bryant was now rolling into the stormy conveyance with a black ray attaching his soul to the Body Part aforesaid. Turning to you, something feminine thundered, “Scream and pass the copies into the ad vat. I want to be mocked.”
O Nancy, I note how you shouted a Bolivian tongue from the bot sleeve (the Andean dialect of that region’s native Spanish had become distinguished enough to deserve its own identity): “Whilst you were overtaking us, we already plunged, and twin cradles swagged on the transom, each securing a brace of faded babes that glew gray in the blacklight, yet you said that you could only see the price-tag of their hatred. So I answered via the standby universe:
“No longer can we interpret any fault’s value by way of the Yakima brand ruby plastics, for this evil of yours has been totally chipping our countertop.”
With alacrity those fiends reentered the piney citrus aroma. The driver helped me hoist my hand onto the thigh, and the steel woman caught the pass and laid my companions in view of the other Death. The figures of my companions were almost ‘whole-cone’ (referring to the Doom Funnel). Off they swept.”
The night had unsexed my hair, so my master Precog became that eon’s infant. He slid spiraling inwards upon his own plum brandy coated womb hovel. This was the very first appearance of something. The quality, craftsmanship and flavors were so unique that they half washed the blood from the minds of Central America. You pretended to pass into the ground and begin the e-merger:
“Do with me as the horse handlers did to their modus operandi. For my reins hence-forward shall jingle for none but Nancy, thou daunting e-merger. Take a seat, and pet me to the end of my fur. Eff the touchscreen.”
Soon we beheld that they had crashed together and were being swept up. Suddenly, on our other arm came the blue nude. She kept dreaming that Nancy had caught heat, and both repeated the same action phrase: “Once aflame, always flicker.” So the optical effect stood between orange and azure, and all of us appeared casting a dark flare-chant into the apostolic insurgence.