Tendentious waves of foaming vitriol plummeted keen upon Kielkrid’s fulcrum. Whist came upon creaking hoar as first light preened. No more was there torpor. Only aqueous bracken groaned in the crampon blaze. Tousling like punters, importune harpings clamored across the cloistering peen. “Why prey upon my scallions of mordent grails?” her kerning voice furled in exigent pumice.
“The quest of luminal crags brings naught but coulters. You of all blitheness should know this troth.” the fetid blunderbuss crooned.
Blest pertained. Not a single fostering coriander hastened.
“But my lading prattles upon no peptic madders!” she glistered and daubed. “Fahd to you and Fahd to all emigrant boucles!”
Ulcerates flailed in the schism. Not one resounding horsier fended. “Plaque! Karaka! ZZzzz,” the foundering zither flumed. And in the coregent glow of the primal tidies, all clandestine labials marled a final dearth. Kielkrid keeled her whorled mien affine to the limpid whelps of garget and n’er a jackal laagered, not now nor e’er more.
1 comment:
Why prey upon my scallions of mordent grails???!!!!!!
That sentence alone was worth the trip! What a remarkable . . . uh . . . style! It won't soon or often be imitated, or improved upon either!
You must have the best time coming up with these (sometimes convincing!) locutions!
Don't stop! Like somebody could stop you.
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