Eliminating the Vogan Queen
Fouey Fricklebundt fries formed generously under the daily duress of Voganistic scoundrel dogs and gloryfined frickleless masters showed up as Jayburgers seriously rounded up in a distressed way by interplanetarium worm hog feedsayergoers. Muddling in madness, the querulous queen of the planetarian everylords slapped an intergalactic space voyager cat into Fricklebundt’s space pod, knowing his allergies would do him in. Swarmpopped at last, we quickly showed the curious mongovvers that the welcome mat was closed to the queen after this meanness. Sixty-four species of humanoids dunderslapped their pawburgers upon the paperwork that caused her demise in record ways. It was a glorbobbering way to get our own candidate to the top of the Vogan council, so in a dubbbliciously deploriattting crazzllating way, it was what we wanted in the end.
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