On my way to the local asshattery to pick

On my way to the local asshattery to pick my ass up a new hat I stopped in the cupcakerie for a red velvet and a cup. A retired haberdasher took note of my chapeau and quipped

"Love your Titfer Tat" I deduced that she was from London and spoke only in rhyming slang. "Hey, me old china" I shouted in case she was deaf, "if you like my hat, take a butchers

block & knife; cut it straight, right down the middle, a right state!" "M'kay Tate," she replied. Cool rhyming slang or no, I begged her to stop. "Can't you see, I'm irate?"

But once on a role, there was no stopping Kate. "Step up to the plate, you'll do great!" But I refused to take the bait. I said. "Let's see you rhyme something with orange!"

Kate said, "You are filthy, you're POOR SPONGE!" The rate of Kate's rhyming words was faster than speeding birds, if you tried your best to stump her, it would only

Result in your mounting frustration. Kate could rhyme with the best of them out there, she ranked first at poetry writing back in primary school. As she aged, however, her rhymes

glaze nail polish. Living in Oz was really beginning to bother our rods and cones as well as our minds. No-one could even remember what fushia looked like. All the crayons were

Yellow, orange, green, blue, brown, grey and black. Yes there were several shades of black. Cool and warm hues made all the difference. Oz was lovely in the outback, kangaroos were

passing out one by one in the summer heat, and all the colours collided to make a repulsive brown which smothered everything in sight. I guess that's my day in a nutshell.