There was an old lady who swallowed a fly.

There was an old lady who swallowed a fly. I don't know why she swallowed the fly. She'll probably die. She swallowed a spider to catch the fly that riggled and jiggled inside her.

The fly was a hip-hop dancer (fly girl), and it clapped (3 pairs), when the spider riggled and jiggled. The vain spider bowed. "Hey, let's get out of this woman who swallowed up

this circus." But the spider, the fly, and even the rat could not find the exit from endosomatophilia. They were alarmed when a fourth descended the passage, mewling for a cheese-

ectomy. I suppose this nesting doll routine that they'd all gotten themselves into could use a good snack. If in the group-hug endosomatophilia, some cheese had been TRAPPED, then

it'd be one big happy cheese-eating lovefest! I wheeled in a six-foot round of Scottish smoked gubeen and a case of fine merlot and we all sat there inside each other, munching hap

and sipping snee and smoking gloot. Hours later, recognition set in. "Hold on," I alerted my companions, " we brought in gubeen and merlot -- so why are we eating hap? And sipping

Death's Door vodka at 3am? Where was that place called Death's Door? We had to fold a story to find out, but back to the present moment when the vodka bottle spoke to us. "Hiya!",

I would've said if the vodka bottle would've spoken in a language I'd understood. Only it didn't. At least that's what I thought at first. It seemed the bottle spoke to each of us

in an own kind of jibberish. I did sound familiar though. Like the backwards talking I practiced with my little brother when we were young. "?elttob akdov ,uoy era woH", I asked.