Grumpy Porridge

In my homeland, I was a big-giant rockstar with "Grumpy Porridge." We played the rollerrocking musics in giant stone boxes. Many small ones would provide economic sustenance to stand in front of us and fall down rhythmically. After the sounds had been eaten, we would have to dance the whole way to our hotel rooms, impersonating soul pioneers "The Jackson Five", to evade the thigh-hungry lady fans. Once our flautist, Olav, fell behind and was found several days later, naked, baked into a jello mold. He has not been able to wheeze since. His family fears for the children.

These days, I am still baking many yelps, though Grumpy Porridge was unable to come to the American States of Happy Freedom with me. They have moved on without me, and while this eviscerates my optical glands counter-clockwise, I wish them many shinings, with the exception of Glarm. He is a birthing cactus.

The Moistened Holocaust

Before moving to the American States of Happy Freedom, I had heard many stories about your water. "Spit-nasty", they said, "clam cola and all the fixings - complete dread." I must say that I now agree! Everywhere I see the fur of the young ones turned black, or worse : thesunburnsmyeyesbecauseitisveryunhappywith me yellow!

And it has shrunken all of your clothes! The poor boy-mens' man-cleavers bear-hugged by fabric! Your water has surely shrunken their trousers to the size of womens'! Now they must all wear hooded blouses because their garments do not fit. The frightened lettering on them run to the sides of their chests to hide, for fear of being taken away in the night by The Liquid Gestapo! The sadlings have grown the banged forefronts of their heads over their eyes to hide their shame.

Meanwhile, all of your women have become orange, irradiated by the hate-fluid! Their clothes have shrunken away completely! Their wrinkled flesh-blankets cry out for liberation!

Your day is coming, hydrating oppressor; it is coming soon!

Recreational Gouging

The body piercings scare me. Frequently in my daily rompings, I meet many young ones and old ones who flap heartily about malfunctioning holes. They tell me about orifical tantrums and riotous membranes, to which I solemnly buckle their forearms. Yet, I later encourse these same grumpsters to learn that they have procreated! Inexplicably, they have enlisted additional skin canyons. I am not certain if this malaise is brought on by a beta-carotein deficience or under-sized trousers, but the entire basket of them have foreclosed braindom! "Prettys!" gargles one and "I am the hard stone!", from another, but I can not purchase stock : This is THE DUMB.

Equalaterally, I can not mimic yams, so then should I also attempt quayle imitatation?? The implicit hazards not withstanding, the young ones are unable to care for their present recesses; additional congressmen are not needed!

Perhaps the young ones have been enticed by a species-specific gut-marveling to adopt this troubadourial stumpness, or perhaps it is a brainling of the entities who seek to profit from this recital. I am uncertain. I know only that it must be extinguished!

Discontinue the deforesting of the young ones' scales. Digest recreational gouging!

The Long Words Become My Cousin.

Hellos! I am the Buckle. I possess smiles that I am provided the opportunity to clamwash my experiences in the American States of Happy Freedom to you through this venue.

I have many brainlings and hope that you enjoy their extrapolation.