Help Said the Octagonal Octopus

Oh on onlookers oversized overridden octagonal oceanographic organised octaves A shrouded sinister sparkle said hello to a dish cloth today. But the array of plates, pans and cutlery shouted in protest for they required much manual labour to clean and manual labour is neither a manure making messy meres nor is is meandering moonlit motorways moving linking lineages. "Oh do pass one the bottle then of caper spiced spirited sauce" for to remain stoic is to symbolise a washing line beam on a radiating clothes horse. Drying not driving. Method of medial sip. And thus sauce was consumed. With a twist and a twitch from a comically positioned moustache to place in fakery. Not real you see. Rather unbecoming. And the lady's green sea skirt next to me caresses my hand in delightful tidal torques. But Torquemada would be a blind moose in a bakery or a fried frightened biscuit placed close to the fire on uneven levels. So said the party of evening ten. Which droned on and on and on and on and on. Until the misted mistletoe maid slept for three quarters of an hour then left to milk the many lines of the herds. Oh simpleton shrinkage! Hark at arks in prismatic glow style. And go to a view. Ha at no one. Z to slumber. And merely observationally at eighteen peeled plus to fourteen koalas kayaking in kitchens. 1 2 3 4 ~ -