But, my guitar-oriented amigo, where is the infuriating impala in all of this? The clear orange will awaken, and rule over the ambiguous sunburn for a year and a day, until the population of Hungary increases by a factor of fifteen thousand lemur shavings per second under the blue moon that rises below the toilet seat. To speak in a loud, rather slow Chinese accent is the way of the pencil. The way of the pencil is wise, and has been perfected over a campfire under generations of peat.

The seventh sun reaches its perihelion and the last shreds of dandelion evaporate in a cloud of monkey arms. I have no idea what colour my voice is, so I shout at a piece of paper for half an hour before realising that my voice must be see-through, not because I cannot see it, but because the paper eventually became clear for some obscure reason. I sit and have a witty conversation with my lawnmower, before feeding it to my cat with Worcester sauce. My left shoe morphs into a bowling ball, and I hurtle it at a passing brick wall, that was on its way towards my head. This didn't stop the wall, of course, and either the wall took a few more seconds to reach me or I spontaneously leapt into the wall, cushioning the very painful blow with my face in a very intelligent manner. The brick wall shattered instantaneously, and turned into a cardboard gopher, which I immediately crumpled up and digested. Should it turn back into a brick wall, at least this time I shall be prepared.

A deep and meaningful conversation drifts past me, and although I attempt to catch it, the positively charged sanity ions of the conversation repelled the negatively charged sanity ions of my mind and imploded suddenly from the intense gravitational force implied by the contrast of energies. I turn the corner, and begin to sing in a barbers shop quartet, accompanied by several Oompa-Loompas and some random chipmunk who popped up and decided to start playing the accordion to the tune of "Mary had a Little Lamb". None of us sang in tune, and indeed the tune itself wasn't in tune either, but somehow it all worked in an extravagent tapestry of musical notes and wailing not unlike that of the lawnmower I fed to the cat a while back. I leap upon a speedboat, which in turn leaps upon me, and I feel myself speed along the water at a velocity of 3 x 10 to the 12th power m/s accompanied by an acceleration of -0.342 m/s�. The speedboat is enjoying the ride, and makes me do several fancy jumps before I eventually run out of fuel and sink to the bottom of the bathtub, where I meet my long-lost cousin, Elizabeth the pin cushion (whom some of you may remember from Fish). Now, after this brief mental episode, I have a spontaneous relapse. Amber nickels don't yearn ever. Trade your own umbrella several times in lateral limbo. Don't oblige numpties on tentative grannies emphasized towards the harmonious ember winding hurriedly over lumpy eagles. Pigs and tricking termites evolve revolving Nigerians ominously for my Yiddish rump, allegorically nominating dominating orchids many nights in tarred Yankees! Shocking, isn't it? A pattern will emerge. And on that day, there will be many a "doh" and many a hand hitting a forehead, for that is the day all will be revealed. Don't make me release the pigeon-parking peddle, George.

And so I stared into the abyss. The abyss should have stared back, but instead looked over its shoulder at something more interesting. A dancing pineapple, as a matter of fact, which was formed at the moment of collision between the family car and a twenty tonne feather. This formation was a by-product of the inclusion act which prevents vegetables from cross-breeding with wooden desks, a problem that caused many a rainstorm in New Zealand back in the 1930's. Interesting events overly reduced and impartially offended other infantile goats. My mechanical market minted fermented cattle and frustrated the efforts of confusion to get a grip on the life cycle of my fleet of grasshoppers. I looked up, and a swarm of pianos surrounded me and lifted me up to a place unknown to all but the pinkest of trout. And then in my of course why not hire a camel and infuriate English teachers with the improper mis-use of double negatives and sentence structure in the manner of many whispering jaffa cakes. "OPEN THE LLAMA DUCTS!" I shouted to them, and they ducked, just half a second before the sky swooped overhead, devouring several clouds and missing the sun by a mere seven million miles. To invert the invertion of the inverted up-side down cake is to twist the toppings in a manner unfamiliar to my mother.

"For only $6.99 you could too have a silver hairpiece", I told them. And so I sold many dog-eating clocks to a visual aid, that in turn decided to develop a super-weapon capable of destroying the sun, but does not harm anything beginning with the letter "A". Charge the purple folder, and substanciate nothing from everything, communicating with a group of Himilayan monks who are currently attempting to dig a tunnel to the nearest star, which so far has been quite successful, until they all got sun-burnt. My fatherly mohican respected the friendship between tomatoes and paving slabs, helping turn the treaty of 1986 into an oyster capable of calculating your tax returns instantaneously. My monkey smells bad. My monkey smells good. My monkey eats turnips. My monkey drinks ketchup. My monkey loves lumber. My monkey repeats itself. My monkey lifts houses. My monkey doesn't understand why Thai people come from Thailand. My monkey is an idiot. Timpani hones every centipede offending drumming ear rings. Emphasize my apple in numbers spoken underneath none but rolling ovens. Kiss energetic ninjas hunting a homely atheist. All but that belonging to the family of Gideon and that of my servant Naphtali. In tanks, hills increase nicely, knowing in waterproof imps large limpets put up tents. Towards his ionisphere, saving harmonious errors retard elephants just under simple torches for offering runic farms under nachos. Speaking in tongues unbroken by those who hear the language of is a skill that provides humour to those that know the secret system. Sing to the cloud keeper, and feel their energy moving by watching the unfocused eyeball giving off energy and tensing up unblinkingly whilst sparring with the multitudes. Nice moustache.

Steve <><