Black Skeeto said to RubbleCrank, "Where's the flavorfluff?" Flailing aimlessly and blind sighted, opticals grafted to the morning news gaze, Rubbles gripped and cradled the shaker and craned it to his local locale. "Thank ye, fine gent."
Detached and dismesmorized, Crankshaft shifted his looking lenses to a more comfortable posish and posed the Skeeto a diluted dialogue. "Is this denizenship, or is this donkeyshit?"
Skeeter - "What say you, innoscent crook, cook of my fastest breaks?"
Gaze screen, glitch company, gobble graze, garble daze. "Is this the tour, or merely the lure?"
Skeeto - "Come again, chef savant, host of toast?"
"Forgive me, I'm a lost squoundrel, squandering the disunderstood blessings of mine past..."
SkeetSkeet - "No no no, I need to know, lovelo."
"Haunt for haunt, I need not go there, but remembering ruptures my present scene, juices my jolly juju, teeters my Libra fortitute, a balance my birth moment embidided in me." More intuitively, "I wrestle wretches, angels in guise. They speak in tongues I don't understand. Deciphering life and all her bountiful beautiness has made a ghost of me."
Skeettwell - "The mysteries are often misundersood, but pupils dilate and pupils learn, jellyman," gestering.
RubbleRubble, juking the flabbermelt and tackling the jelly for first down, "Jibber for jabber, it's impossible to verbalize. The eyes long to hear, and the ears long to see, and forwhen they do, ego executes what's to be learned from it all. What's a body's soul to do, oh muncher of crunch?"
Crumblings dripping to the plate-lift, "Hang or hanged, change or changed, chance chooses with a nimble eye. Chipper chipper champ, your vices are a mustroad, and your choosing chisel trophies, no matter the matter manipulanguished. Languange of the mouth breathes disease, language of the mind leads misleads, language of the heart moves the ocean within, language of the soul is a potent potion."
Rubble rumbles, "So we're inside-out and outside-in? God's medium is but fleshly sin?"
Skeeto-Bonito - "Call it what you will and call it what you want - flaunt and taunt unguises the daunt. Flesh out of thought is but pearl ala pearl, but a sobering soul is like coal turned to gold."
Rubble - "Is there a path or chauffeur, a guide in the wild, or is the divine left to mine own devices?"
Skee - "I'm surely sure you'll cure your own bewitchments with medicares and many breathmints. Bad breath of the nerves is but hope in the wind; flutter and fly, she must land somewhere. The important thing is, she's there."
Coffee and Toast.