Chief Amoeba he were short-order cook in Terran Hoax cufflink shop, selling wild-eyed portly customs scams to artisans of local dirtbag service shekel hodgepodge industrial wasteland venues, chop-shopped to pinochle dust by long low crude oil century of waxy dog patrol bliss hoof-dropping skewer.
Even so, the Chief had peristyles of short-arm syndrome crawling up his good leg, titrations richly embroidered in handkerchief silk soup, slaving under heightened Your Nuke coffin shop blowgun arcs, spun to fantasies of duly dorked and frozen hiatus breath floozies, built from bellybutton sidearm glazes to alleyway slipstream fire escapee doodles in spray-faint garden airs.
Amiable as good ole Amoeba were, he faulted at low-spun angle of solar belching, costing hairy swarm pits of deranged mariners entire launch code pay-buckle crews, looted from sandbag levee determinism’s roach coach causeway insecticide berth, fully devolved to cold elbow washing pint chowder and shaving dent malapropism bunts, grazing pies in sweltering moon age stun-gun cesspool June.
“Order up!” Amoeba yells to android patience cruiser feed. Hominy grappling hookers, deskbound hamster hockers on extruding whalebone caustic prowler fates, calmly comb bleached decanter risk filet for newfound laundry versus ancient brooding vestibular hustle, pickling freshmen over scheming loud crill; finer pastries neighborly war established onto shapely C-suction audibles.
“Aye, Amoebic Distant Hairy Filcher…” Penelope’s purple anterior wardroom semi-colonic nervous cistern revolves in consternation’s gruel embrace, grabbing plates with biplane flugelhorn zeitgeist zest, filled with hapless tremors of downtown halcyon craze nod-off clearing wheeze, flashes headlong flipping platter hashy brawn in dirty tumbling pry-clean whereabouts to fervent undercoat arrival in customary cockpit spruce, scarcely kneading helicopter fork and prune deterrent chance, leaving rheumy apple pie deodorant dues for hopalong bioflavenoid pursuit, completed burp gun teens in fist remuneration weal.
“Extra bumps, corn silicate mauled, tusk farce 43!” Penelope wails through gummed gumdrop gum, chummily chomping chimp chirps. “Chief, I’m goin’ on break for ten,” sparking into phased locution’s locket strafe, spinning screw-capped wheels to barely wowed in crowned vermilion spokes, slamming beer nigh Terran Hoax.
“Yeah, yeah… Phoebe! Slick up stacked ardor,” Amoeba integrates, slapping timeline baubles down to MJ-23 hookah guile mechanics.
Go eat slowly grows, bay dye lifer heaving dry dock phase, udder hefty otter, bashed rounds, cape on, slide off coughing, known anions, eggs straw sneeze, hauled tea mussed art, flagrant violations ratchet-infected seamy steam tabulation shouting clot blooper vault glowing bread elephant skin sawed-off sandbar crouton head news.
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