Oily in the Morning

Anyway, as I was saying, I was pounding the beat down Peanut Lane, my shoes in a right mess, when out of the corner of my eye comes a tear. Now, I'll admit I tried to avoid him at first — tears aren't the most illuminating of companies to keep, you see. But I soon saw reason (behind the boat shed, smoking a fag) and he convinced me to see straight. Straight wasn't in his office, however, so I went back to smoking, pleading on his doorstep with a handful of azaleas. But the deadly Mr. S. was having none of it — not even when I tried to force it — thus leaving me, again, I guess you could say, without sense; he took all my money too.

Two days later, I found myself atop a four-story car park, and I waved to him joyously, who, being a phobe, did not appreciate being used as a flag. Either way, his consternation had nothing of an effect on me, and I was free to prick my ears to this newfound car park friend:

"I spend the nigh un a walkun bed, and all swords of woiled things huppand. You know the drell: korpets wobblun, guy-scrabers, vunny-looking beeble — beeble oo need beeble. It was absloodly amasin. N then, uv cores, I waig up and it sall borun and nomul agin. *hack* Excuse me."

I listened in amazement. Withdrawing and paying him, I returned my attention to myself and asked if all was true. He told me no, all was not true — in fact all had been cheating on him for several years. I reasoned with him, who had just walked in on the conversation and I engaged in an act of fiction, and then I reasoned, in turn, with myself, saying that maybe the fault lay with several years. He then countered by saying everyone lay with several years, and I was not happy. To anyway who knew the both of us, as well as me and not happy, this would be already quite clear, but I say it to all those who may, for some reason, think we are the same, another person entirely.

This was a real corker, wasn't it?