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Tag-Wong and Her Prettiest Dangerware
Hints of drawers and mashes of petty maritime. The sing-song lifted her nifty scouring plank and made pairs of things go all stupid. The light is down and there is plenty vacuum. The vacuum for lean pieces, the pieces for crapped out cows.
And then there is little Tag-Wong, slow to paddle and quick to park. Her tiny is puny when she doesn't have link. You won't find her sinking when rangers crawl up. You won't browse her buckle with dangles of pears. You won't house her knuckles with bunches of crunch. And you sure won't send her blouses with houses in the mouth.
Ah, Tag-Wong. My only real Tag-Wong. If only she was remember. If only I was remember. Them memories has stuff around them that no one can gets at. There is messages in them memories. There is mouses in them mazes. The dusted shadow presents whistles and ginger when the lingering penny is more than four hours oldy.
We went a-walking, a-walking, away. And then we was shooting the creepers away. The petty old nuisance was bubbling up sour but the tackle we baited was more than four hour.
"Hello, Tag-Wong," was all I could said. For the ring in her ears was forever in wed.
"All trilly, Wing Scar," Tag-Wong hissed in her powder. Her face was regarded with plush and low moan. She had no loan. She wore two wigs and she wore four times seven.
We flopped on the dock and it shook. We stood on the edge and fell all the way. There was nothing to feel but wet and moving things everywhere. Muted colorful slides drifted through our nutty heads exposing the tinsel in our twisted prize bucket.
"I will give you, Tag-Wong," bubbled shoulder.
"Pack up pockets," Tag-Wong replied as she notched out a slotter.
Big babies was everywhere just crawling and crying for no reason. One big baby pushed all the others out and it was all that was left. We looked real close as that one started to get bigger and even sorta potty-ish. It had dummy head and that was all we could. It was booted around and snatched away in directions.
"Cathy? Cathy?" biggest baby calling.
Apparently this ask was for friend or mother, neither was one and not for other. Brown purpose was hitting bottom and knew it. Category was books and smarts.
"I Cathy," Tag-Wong proclaim with sudden varnish.
What Tag-Wong doing? She tell big baby she Cathy when everyone know she ain't no damn Cathy. But she say Cathy anyway. This was wrong thing for doing. Very wrong thing and now there no way to take back. Once you say you Cathy you is Cathy. Statement is for keeping, forever, is kind of ongoing thing.
"Psssst!" I hissed at Tag-Wong. Funny, when you stops things they don't wanna stops. They just wants to goes and goes. And right now they goes and goes and goes and goes...!
And then damn baby was all spruced up nice with suitcases in the paw. It hawking goods with intent to pyramid scheme.
"Gah, gah. You all sell Pretty Dangerware and we all get plenty rich!" cried the baby's food pile. The food held out sample Dangerware, stroking and loving with the soft touch. The eyes in the head had round effects like planets. When you look at the Cathy results you only beg and plan the gentler witch.
"Hello, would you be interested in purchasing some lovely Pretty Dangerware?" Tag-Wong coughed it up.
But it was making us all sick in our intestines. We was feeling sicker and so damn sick that we couldn't pack the bag no more. We was had it. And that was enough once we was had it. Double times onion is padded with thicker ticks.
All the questions that ain't got answered:
What makes gas go?
Does the difference between stuff make any difference?
If a package doesn't weigh nothing why is it packaged up?
Can you make snacks quickly and edible?
Is this wobbly button the least thing you can rely on?
Where is National Monica?
Is it always too late?
"All question get it," Tag-Wong said as she slowly rubbing baby down. It was turning 2-D and rosey McRed. From the look of the thing you would think it were dead.
But Tag-Wong kept a-mashing and a-mashing until all the squirt was out. Then she stood up and pointed East.
Oliver Martian traveled up through the groove carrying all the trays that was never allowed. We grabbed at many treats and smacked 'em down property. And then we was full. So full that we just lay there and pecked.
"The willivee birth shelves the shallow of bright," the voices called out full of keenest delight.
©January 2009 dONW7
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