Stop it. Just.... stop it.

Stop it. Just.... stop it.
Okay.
Ever since I was a young sapling, I had tried to expand my speech vocabulary. However, no matter how hard I tried to utter any word besides 'okay', there was never anything but
a soft wheeze, which would barely escape my mouth. I couldn't comprehend why this would always happen, I'd give anything to be able to speak freely. This passion was why I chose to
swallow the reed of my clarinet. It was stuck at the back of my throat. My voice was a contralto, husky at times, shrill at others. Finally my wife the composer listened to me
then stumbled over to the piano and pulled out Bach's "Air on a G-string." "Sing!" she demanded, as her fingers flew over the keys. Apparently the neighbords were listening to
-p Gun-style which meant, when the neighbors listened to them play piano they played a montage version of volleyball and jumped on a motorbike which was silly because
...well,I don't know!I just was!Not everything has a reason,or happens for a reason.Actually,most things are random.Like fire ants they came with their motorbikes and at 250
:05 Martian time on a certain day they felt a calling, and so they wheeled their motorbikes around a certain tumblebush on the frontier, had some vittles and conveyed the teachings
of "Examples of What Not to do" to the impressionable native children. But the sideways motorcycle technology was not adaptible, & they were up a creek without a certain implement.

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