Once upon a time there was (a) monkey named Monkye who lived in a tree with two little mice who were called 'a savage insult' and Cardinal Biggles. In the house down the road, up the hill, (and) under a bridge, a nice, large banana plantation was being planned. However, someone forgot the old mice colony that was eaten by the cat had suffered a wild party with Cardinal Biggles as a big giant fat mouse. The neighbouring worms asked the friendly neighborhood to please stop the banana plantation...or they would write a harsh letter to the benign sweet chilli sauce. So no one wrote the banana a formal letter, instead opting to send one angry beehive to assess defensive capabilities and fruit storage facilities. This failed epically. So the worms devised a devious, despicable document of poisonous anti-banana pesticides and disseminated it with extreme prejudice. The mountain's inhabitants lived, blissfully unaware of the secrets unveiled in the eyes of the last purple ladybug, the mountain called 'Laughing Coconut Peak'. Such intrigue was a simple delight to the happy, Cardinal Biggles loving 'savage'. Trouble brewed. Bananas were skewered. The world turned. Suddenly, there was a bright flash. Then, all was abrupt, short sentences. This didn't surprise the narrating team, because they grew restless with the author of the interminably long-winded novella, and walked away. In any event, there was a huge fire brimming. If only it would stop burning, thought the Captain, as he drank a flagon of TNP's best rum. The Crimson vintage was infamous throughout the lands, being manufactured from blood-red pomegranate juice and coconut fiber. When Captain decided to sail bananas across the roughest sea, the bananas sank. Rob Fell Downward, deep into fathomless caverns of crushing marshmallows. They were deliciously soft, however, so he ate his way out with only mild irritations of rather inexplicit nature. Following this, the worms came. Worms. I love that word. It's so uniquely special in its verbiage and nounitude. It deserves a story in itself, and another paragraph.
As I was learning riemannian geometry, I got distracted. So I changed my major from three to n, not including derivative functions, upending the quantum theory of undergraduate end-state supersymmetry. Afterwards, exhausted by mind numbing concatenations, I played poker with my pet rock. (He won.) A slow day passed without a single opportunity to do a jive. But soon enough, worms fell through the sky, hitting tree branches and eating curry covered giant desert Eskimos, while Cardinal Biggles danced with glee. Long cavernous white hallways padded with angry penguin hordes collapsed because of the sheer extradimensional weight of worms clogging corridors from north to south. Albert Camus once wrote a depressing song named death by plague plagued. It was lost in a long journey through millions of inapplicable metaphors and solar energy draining capacitors from the planet Epsilon. Then Dog the Magic Dragon from Sillywood in Whoflungdung started dancing in a robot chicken. Then it broke. This caused grievous deep psychological wounds which greatly impaired the functionality of its wooden legs. Millions of desperate Korean fly's all converged upon a silver shoe with glittery laces, thanks be to the Great Cardinal Biggles. Then the huge, overburdened narrative finally began rambling again. Later the vowels fell like raindrops on a tin cat. Poor thing. The people begged for relief from the frozen fruit, insisting on melting the golden pineapple. The last of the human race found little worth in taking exams, so instead drew a line at the point of insertion, then swiftly ended the paragraph. And the story.
In the sand castles made of glue, held together by metallic hamsters, made of sand, lived a duck. Now this Duck was a cat bird that loved chicken ham sandwiches on rye, with soft turtles wriggling in its ears. Then the bouncy castle rolled across the large frog bound by quantum black holes marinated in pokemon juices.
He ate it. So many times. Then he died. So many times. Seventy-five in fact. Story ends here. But not for... Nope, it's over. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, it dithered and dathered back into existance! On another forum, not unlike the. Nope. Not Equilism.
"Enough With Nope!", Cardinal Biggles declared, "It drives me to THE END OF MY WITS!" "That poor wretched old and silly monkey named Monkye. Said monkey has late stage cancer. " The Cardinal then stabbed himself violently in the chest.
Blood pooled on the shag-pile carpet where it was creating huge stains. A small dog, which was camouflaged, began gnawing on the table that held life's secrets. It's a book of endless agony, written by Sir Tin Lee Naught, published in Paris. Paris, of course, was incidentally the silliest place to do anything involving the number twelve, because the locals were once eaten by a Georgian Viscount named George. George had twelve testicles, yet only had seven fingers, all was frosty. As he made his way up Mount Fuji he saw a llama. He decided to eat something meaty that he prepared to eat the skipping record player. After adding his own reflection, laughter killed him. His corpse putrified the mangled remains, leaving a small but clearly visible pendant, shining brightly but still tarnished with the souls of baby seals. It was a beautiful mongoose covered with photos of my dear Lady Gaga, my secret arch-nemesis. The late Cardinal Biggles was late to Mass, so Gaga went instead, but the priest didn't like it. He banished Gaga to the pews where she sang like an angel, but the choir flat out refused to let her eat crisps while she took Communion. "Oh please Mister," she said as the organist glared with bright red laser eyes charging, "These crisps are delicious. Try some." Suddenly, three secret ninja jedi appeared with mirrored glasses and formed a telescope of sorts. The Jester played a jazz waltz, while the Cardinal paced back and violently forth as he boogied out of time to the waltz. "Sufferin' succotash!" proclaimed the cartoony Cardinal. He then farted. Everyone died, except those who didn't. Lady Gaga sneezed, and out came mini Lady Gaga. She ran up the furry wall in the rectory, never to be seen again. Centuries later, she was spotted watching the Intergalactic Space Olympics in a contradiction that led to riemannian geometry divided by zero, which was completely bewildering. The revenant werewolf coughed up a nasty hairball and exploded in response to alchemical stimuli.
Meanwhile, alphabet soup started stagnating in vats of lard hidden in Romania. Hordes of random barbarians charged in. They ate well, and drank stale Romanian goat's milk. Koona demanded payment. Said the barbarians, "Freeze, sucka!" They threw him on his back and tickled his belly. Koona begged for Asta to bartend so the barbarians offered Max Barry. Violet tried to invoke ADMIN power, but it backfired and she CTEd.
Cardinal Biggles celebrated with green bananas, eating seven of nine and cooking the other five. Twelve and twenty Republicans tried to crash the party, utilizing elephants of mass destruction. The only known defence against this menace were the Democratic-Libertarian allied forces. They are commanded by the mighty waffle division of