by Jim Meirose.
My Dog: Hey.
Me: What?
My Dog: How did you break your nose?
Me: Well, how I broke my nose’s not really how it happened’a wa’ afta’, asin; but, might be like this; now how’s ‘bout d’gift ma’ Babci-Nora give me, th’ nice but wrong sized big Replogle. So; at some every one ‘f a’ turn-in counter, know, Scamp, not to toss said big dump’d Replogle; or that will cause my-raids io’ cosmetical problemos. So; ought we get ur-boy a big new Replogle? Ought we, ought we?
My Dog: Ought we not?
Me: Okay. Sure. Agreed. But so.
My Dog: And then what?
Me: Here’s! Da machina-generated pseudotruth for the day, ess; Barry Jack threw out his gradutated elder brother’s big worn anmutated into illegibility Replogle, causing my last’s week’s most great truth t’ be. Since, I’ve found I do live in a world of horribly glistening superheated deep black every-sized Replogles; a’ glossy a’ spinnery, w’ each passing unit slinging lower ‘n ‘ower, sinking seeking going lone ‘nuff to take some heads. By all that’s LaBrea; for that big Christmastime of a day? Phantasmla Stickley, that?
My Dog: What? Huh?
Me: This; d’ya think?
My Dog: Oh. Sure. But–how did you break your nose? That is what I asked.
Me: Yes! I Know! And I’ve known for grippety numbers of years ou’ scantycists ‘ve been hunkering down-into solving this n’ that problem; why higher than yon sky’s the lower membrane of too high, and outside bubbling with rolly-tine tumblas of allsized-out slickened paid up Replogles?
My Dog: I don’t know. Why?
Me: They told me that sir, it’s obvious that you have used this item improperly.
My Dog: Ain’t that some damned?
Me: Sure.
My Dog: But–then what?
Me: Oh, we le’ it go kinda-so, but, sorry. We weren’t sure a debate would aid him large in his studios, ‘gardless of how many thems he finds inside himself. Ah? Ah? ‘s does happen in every endeavor one quanta-tum-tumbreled down the clean streets of France. And the little one and the dog will enjoy destroying such a large Carton. Uh! Funny! Yes?
My Dog: Oh yes. Very funny.
Me: I’ll say so! I did! Anyway, I later told Sydney, not to toss that there big Replogle; it’s not so robust as most MOVA Internationals. Do so, and cause my-raids o’ cosmetical problemos, noted one Republica-Reploglican, ‘cause from scientists within scientists, for sum many ah numbers, it was felt that the up’s above’s much farther than the reasonable student can stand to study. Plus, the black sickly glistening round parts of each were dripping with da stickiest type of tar, but; Replogles are everclean—no tar on a Replogle, no. There’s no known word for what actually’s coating them, but; spherical over ‘n under bubbly-boils of round hard slick filthy superheated globular Replogles will sooner or later. Now this is the point where the clerk crowned quite angry. Want to know more to know more want to know eh want-nt to know? Ash Chinchilla? Hey! Hey!
My Dog: Ook! Well, eh, oh, okay! Tell us more.
Me: This here; geese! Now we replied that, for that kind of dense usage, we would prefer a few waypoints. So he said, Okay, Zanzi, I her ya’ w’ ought of said carton steada’ bar-box. Got that? What nerve. That was first; how I broke my nose, well; that comes soon after. Do you want to git further? Or is we at your oh-heck la-la end?
My Dog: I suppose if we’ve been here this long, we might as well hear the end.
Me: If you want that, yell Petunia!
My Dog: I–oh. Yes, sure. What the hell. Petunia!
Me: Great! I said hot, Heresy-go; sunny or layered or round-robined yayoes, the skies will break off and all but ten of them will zipperpull down’da here, right here. But he dared say again, That brand cannot be returned for full refund, sir. And just because a screw and nut were used ‘stead a stud to ‘xperdite that repair, but ‘f th’ holdings equalized it’s no ‘sue. So, we went to our wicker-shop thinking we’ll try, but really felt that those size stud-nuts probably weren’t made no more. Repair at that point seemed impossible. Things looked bleak. Bleak! Know how come?
My Dog: No. How come?
Me: Leaving is there would cause my nose many cosmetical problemos, an’, innadiction the streets of th’ Vatican, France, Vennie-zuelia, and Hope-de-La Pitcairn will similuna-t’eniously boil all black’n bubbly’n hot. But nonetheless, I felt too tired to go.
Looks down. Face in hand.
My Dog: Wait.
Me: Wait?
My Dog: Yes. Wait; then say; uh—okay. But your nose? Was it finally broken by then?
Me: No, silly? How could that be? No, no. Still intact, we took it back t-try one more time, where the clerk at last said, Sorry, so. The company doesn’t encourage such use of that item. The price you paid, well—did not include a guarantee. He glowered as though it would end there. But…
My Dog: But? But what?
Me: This; I said loudly, No, Scamp! Not to toss that there big Columbus, either; those also cause their share o’ cosmetical problemos! That design being obsolete, as it is. Consequences, my darling? Hah! I’m afraid I am here until you give in. And the line behind me is growing. So, then, the counterman, his back rankling, his hand thrown up, shouted down, Hey! Hey! What ‘d ‘ell did ya’ think when they’re no longer supported, big Pappy? You dunnon’t what to no! Besinka! Much too hot!
My Dog: Wow! So—then what?
Me: I cut out o’er him, No! No! No! No buts! Just only; as it is written; for frying only; do not boil! When cool, toss that meat down down tha’ there ‘iggybull’s deep snapperhole. Briskly, briskly–or his large teeth will stop you. It’ll then be ur-faultie dat ‘veryone there, those, and them up there gets splat’d down hard ‘n ‘statutionlly in’sinterat’d! Cigarette? No stubstations, either; file that down.
My Dog: Wow, Whew! This is hard! But, are you nearly done?
Me: No, no. Not even close. You don’t yet know, but I found out the hard way that, gowns off, as God’s up my wellness, the other place will get struck by a millennia of half-hourly shockwaves that will beat everything flat. All summits, every precipice, every big white beachfront fake wavepool plush an’nie’s nature-laned animal uggla-Dizzkneed husks. And also; any car; any color; living, or dead five of each regardless of need! Seventy-nine ninety-nine! Which we presume in our foolishness means living and dead, but no, it’s living or dead, which means only living, or only dead. But I remained civil. In good faith, I gestured toward an alternative. But, his reply was bone-dry. He said—No, no. I do not think she would appreciate being gifted a big set of spanners—then—the silence. Spread over deep vacuum. To pull out our worst, so–here we went, there we go–we moved in. Yes.
My Dog: And was that it?
Me: Nearly, yes. Very quite nearly. You see, inches from clerksnose I spat that Replogles, five living, or five dead Replogles, equals just five Replogles, living or dead, depending on if you choose living Replogles or dead Replogles; how many people before you sir have understood that wrong? And, hereup ‘nd moreso, your set, sir, appears to need new valves–this pushed him back bits, so we closed in closer with Seth Dana Da’Frenzy Opp, hiss-sizter. So not to toss that there, put it back now, not to toss that big Replogle–put it back put it back now; or that to toss that or this or that what will set that big Replogle a’rollin’; or neither any time of Greaves & Thomas’s, too; my-raids o’ cosmetical, will cause my-raids o’ problemos, ‘less she put ‘t back ‘ow! You have been told, sir. I’ve cosmetical problemos I swear I do so I’ve nothing to lose. So, set that big t’ing down easy, right now, or face you’ common senses! But, I messed up a bit. You know. M’cranky-cranky.
My Dog: Really? After all that—all went—m’cranky-cranky?
Me: Yep. See, my mistake was to pause for a breath then. I moved, he acted, and so; Sabbat; this here’s how I broke how I my nose nose how I broke my broke how I broke my I how I broke my nose that’s how it happened. As nauseam, hup!
My Dog: That it?
Me: It’s that.
Suhlue; b’, satisifued now, hey—b’, where the hell’d he go, where’s he go, where see, uh?