sanemagazine: wonderful rubbish

He went running down the corridor as gracefully and quickly as one possibly can whilst in sockfeet and carrying a wombat.
Especially when the wombat quite obviously either has better things to be doing than being jostled up and down in someone's arms, or is desperately hungry, and could have sworn it had seen a cheeseburger somewhere on the person of the person jostling it up and down this corridor.
Matters came to a head when three tonnes of naturally-grown ivy erupted all along the corridor, bursting leopard print pillows out of their formerly comfortable former resting places with alarming force (though no more than average pillow fight, which was how duels had come to be fought recently on-board the ship, due to the abundance of throw pillows about and the poor choice of building material chosen for the corridors in which the duels were held that deflected bullets and laser beams, rather than absorb them. However, things got deadly serious once again, after a few relatively light-hearted duels in which the winner was declared by figuring out who was least red in the face and hadn't sustained any pillow burns, when people started filling their pillows with wombats, whose reaction to being smacked into someone else's head was remarkably less docile than goosedown and feathers) and tracklighting was rent asunder.

The effect of throw pillows erupting from the dark corners of the corridor, needless to say, had a less than comforting effect on the wombat the man was carrying. Which made running down the corridor, in addition to skirting the various tentacles of freshly erupted ivy, wildly strewn leopard print throw pillows, burst tracklighting, and occasional piles of pistachio shells, all of which accomplished in sockfeet, just a little bit more difficult, even without a wombat shouting at him and clawing his right ear.

It was all bringing back bad memories of his service with the Gerald B. Figgis Third Armoured Division for the Preservation of Jelly.

disclaimer:
Part seven in a series of three hundred twenty-six.

There is no logical explanation for ivy.


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				Ticklish
		archives horoscopes contacts fables home		He went running down the corridor as gracefully and quickly as one possibly can whilst in sockfeet and carrying a wombat. Especially when the wombat quite obviously either has better things to be doing than being jostled up and down in someone's arms, or is desperately hungry, and could have sworn it had seen a cheeseburger somewhere on the person of the person jostling it up and down this corridor. Matters came to a head when three tonnes of naturally-grown ivy erupted all along the corridor, bursting leopard print pillows out of their formerly comfortable former resting places with alarming force (though no more than average pillow fight, which was how duels had come to be fought recently on-board the ship, due to the abundance of throw pillows about and the poor choice of building material chosen for the corridors in which the duels were held that deflected bullets and laser beams, rather than absorb them. However, things got deadly serious once again, after a few relatively light-hearted duels in which the winner was declared by figuring out who was least red in the face and hadn't sustained any pillow burns, when people started filling their pillows with wombats, whose reaction to being smacked into someone else's head was remarkably less docile than goosedown and feathers) and tracklighting was rent asunder. The effect of throw pillows erupting from the dark corners of the corridor, needless to say, had a less than comforting effect on the wombat the man was carrying. Which made running down the corridor, in addition to skirting the various tentacles of freshly erupted ivy, wildly strewn leopard print throw pillows, burst tracklighting, and occasional piles of pistachio shells, all of which accomplished in sockfeet, just a little bit more difficult, even without a wombat shouting at him and clawing his right ear. It was all bringing back bad memories of his service with the Gerald B. Figgis Third Armoured Division for the Preservation of Jelly. disclaimer: Part seven in a series of three hundred twenty-six. There is no logical explanation for ivy.

Ticklish