Don't fondle the broken monkey, please. He drank too much Richard Simmons and now thinks he is a lamp. I tried to coerce him, but his tail was too short. So now he just stands there in his lampshade-covered hammock, glowing loudly. But all is well, peaches are in the attic. As long as they don't sing along, the moon will continue to wax my shoes. Which is nice, because then I don't have to wrestle the butcher. I heard an odd picture, but it was just my foot. So that's okay.

Sometimes I wonder, what do trees believe? Do they know of Twizzlers? I think they smell them. Once a bum told me he was a wise man. He smelled of cheese and Pop-Tarts, but he said strawberries would take over the world. I started to laugh, but he showed me Elvis inside a bottle. He was green, but didn't wear plaid. I fear oranges. Unpainted sounds haunt my tender sinuses. If wishes were skyscrapers, we'd need more window-washers.

I volleyball hikers. It's fun to bookcase in the radio. When nouns are verbs, only buses will be octopuses. This I waveringly lie upon the Barney Song. Where did my arm go? I'm sure it was here a minute ago.

Stop! Nobody move. The monkey's bulb blew. Let me find a candle...