The Joy of Bing Skits Zoid

This poetic blurb not meant to annoy divulging, when just a whippersnapper boy me late mum and octogenarian pop agreed without questioning why doctor best remove adenoid pat response told less to prevent sole son tubby coy than fear Harris heir, would not inherit carnival throne sidestepping 3 ring circus, and not becoming an android dreaming of electric sheep, a disagreeable prospect that could hoof happened, aye shear with you especially in tandem with predilection tilting tubby goy fated outcome unfazed this herbaceous rooted lad, who idolized captain crunch (before childhoods' end) hoping seaman tic wood beckon with “A HOY” mollified parents blithely steered son clear into psychotic outcome delivering obliviousness that brought inner joy anyway, this peculiar male progeny believing himself to be just another brick in the wall of Pink Floyd, tripping with comfortably numb skull found himself evicted from the hall of the mountain king and in sore need of deep psychoanalysis, hence didst imp ploy therapy in orifice er office of maudlin Sigmund Freud whose nose bore striking resemblance, to a fleshy phallic shaped trumpeting toy pud dill, this mental analysis delved into past – outcome induced feint to faint, while cawing boss addressed as Oedipus Rex, which verbal homage did cloy dredging layered past devoid of love flush with malicious predatory abuse from Lloyd Lavinsky, an Audubon Elementary grade school male lore demon bully sanity of mine he almost destroyed.