The 'skintles' are the bricks set diagonally in order to tie the over-hangers
together.
~C.T. Davis, Bricks, Tiles, Etc..
Pride of Ad Nauseam, whose archiflux Winnebagoloom is the
shuddering periplasm of improbable floating helium honeycombed furnitures,
why have you taken Bad Chicken from Jimmy Smith?
Is it because Laocoön Airlines has a sale today?
Is it because Madame Wong's floating volcanic lake hideaway Chalet
is closed for renovation?
Bad Chicken, be strong! Take your Mongolian Lycopene tablet
and murmur in your cells. When they serve you Candide in old lace,
unfold your prism gondola nose over it as the Spanish gazebo
would charm a spring evening, naked footfalls on a rainless plateau.
Bad Chicken, never fear! And never feral, cleave to the squirrelly black
spit-curls which roil in your knotty decibel house and take your 9-sided
Polytope
to burnish the corrupting coyne and trreazure whose nameless hide
is the basiophthalmite of the basiliskian glare of gorgeous and rhetorical
embellishments.
O gorgeous feathered one! Do not think this deer of woolen toga parts
is my only gift to you! My glory is to become an amorphous mirror pod
to your glow-ear, your basinetted head on high, which smells of ambergris-gris
and the wicker of dried piglet roses whose spongiform pifferaros dance
at the door of Locanda. The charming shepherds who came to the cities
from the Abruzzi to play their bagpipes in front of the wayside shrines
of all the Elder Bad Chickens.
Innocent and Malefic Poulet à la Marengo! Go now into the apocalyptic garden of
English
and make your mareschal tithings to the infinite black buttercup whose cilia you
water with your loping tears! O Fossula of Loovesum's Bock-Bock, take these
spoore
hoary jowl-pleats into the warm bedloam of your supple loowarm lexemexi
of pheasant-berry æstivoautumnalonts whose Falcidian portion is the strange
whinnying of eternal stone, and the gnashing of whistling mothers in the
gangrenous
Rioja rioterie..
Bad Chicken! Be Brave! Be wild in your terminus! Be frank to a lollypop!
All is as droll as a vaudeville of Trilobites, a Biscuits Cantreau wobbling
for the finish line in fine linen daintily spotted with hallucinating grue sums.
O Clucking and wanton Innocenti! Your triacetate treygobet is the Wiskinkie
of incredible dialogias! All love you Bad Chicken! Take heart! Now give
it back Bad Chicken, don't gnaw.. Don't gnaw the heart drool of your
own waif-like Wisigoths. O tufted Garrawsimorph, we are ever a turban of peaches
for your vestigial humpback head whose fabulous yarnwindle spiels all manner
of spyces to make confections, garquinces, plaates, sedes, and all other
spycery nedefull for the magestus of Magna Bad Chicken Tyrex iffa iffa
Pissophanite
found in soft drops
like the kisses in the 69 rotundas
of Botching-on-Botargospawn.
