Frothings was just not in the mood for anything.
agnostic carpacccio; prime nook-puerile filet. how could anyone eat that stuff?
later, the maître d’ wiped out on the trail of glop he left behind.

cultivating linguistic cravings instigates pong-shift ogle or as it is more commonly know ‘art with a capital F’

‘OOUUUH . . . I knew I would forget that chicken!’
‘it’s o.k., it’s only a chicken’
‘yeah, a BLOODY ANNOYING chicken!!!’

baguette, garlic, cash from ‘tashe.

they faced off in the luminous twilight. a subsonic drone swelled from beyond the void as darkness softly bled.

unbeknownst to the rather prude austropithicus afarensis, his buffoon once more scoffed on plums with infuriating exactitude.

Kolbert managed to pry the thing out of the ice with his bare fingers.
it was horrible, not of this earth.
was it possible that this had once been a living creature?
cursing Noclunta for making him defrost that ancient refrigerator again he scooped up another handful of greenish brown slush.