It was the best of times, it was the worst

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of Aquarius, it was the Reagan Era

and most importantly, it was well past dinner. The spoiled little bunny rabbit sat there, banging his tiny little fork & knife against the wee table. The Fallen Angel wanted salad.

Only thing you can do when u get the tummy rumblies, you cook up hands and then you eat them. At least that's what Carl from Llamas w/hats would do. It sounded like an odd thing 2

do, but what do I know, I'm friends with a llama. So with my big bowl of fried hands I sat down to watch the game, scratching my butt with a slightly burnt hand all the while. The

scent of my fried hands was too much for my dog "Chomper", though. 'Cause when I got up again for beer, he launched himself at my backside, sniffing at where I had scratched. Chomp

er had been sharpening his teeth with kitchen knives, so my tender back offered no meaningful resistance. I rubbed Chomper's paw with my fried hands and he ate himself instead. Bud

apest & it's crack plastic surgeons were my only option. I crammed my deep fried body into a cartoon cannon & fired myself at the Pest Klinik for Cookery & Other Kitchen Trauma

but they were full and they couldn't take care of me. They were all busy hiding from the meteorite shower which was about to start. Then I remembered about the well with healing

powers in the magical glen where the enchanted topiaries grew. And my mind wandered along paths of happier times spent gamboling in that sun dappled place which I will never see ag