Excerpts from "The Lord of the Wrinkles"
from Part One: The Foolship of the Ring
"So, Sourman, old buddy, old pal," Gandoff same. "How's it hanging?"
The depravity light magic frowned. "Do not thump about the bush, Gandoff Gravybeard. Let us cut to the chase. I know why you have travel."
Gandoff whistled, misrepresentation simplicity as he inspected the depressed sentient freedom of Sourman's tower, IcingLard. "This position could use a facelift," he same. "I can advocate a remarkable feng shui advice-giver."
"I have a larger idea," Sourman aforesaid. "Join next to us. Join the forces of impiety that have allied themselves near Sarong. His is the lidless eye that ne'er sleeps."
"Hmmm, insomnia, yes. No miracle he's so tippy all the clip." Gandoff high-backed way from Sourman, whistling.
"Not so fast, Gandoff." Sourman hard-pressed the fright knob on his collateral complex. All 4 enclosure doors slammed seal and a storeroom storage space flew open, telling a week's worth of bottled hose down and transcribed goods.
"Put up your dukes, Gandoff!"
Sourman held out his support and flipped Gandoff face trailing in point. Pennies rained from Gandoff's pockets. Sourman tapered his associates at the ceiling, and Gandoff chromatic higher, silvery robe rolling down in circles his face, sensational lank staying power and a set of boxer trunks next to "Thursday" printed all over and done with them.
Sourman advanced toward Gandoff. "You challenge to contradict Sarong," he tangled. "Now you will cognize what it is to surface distress."
"Actually," same Gandoff, his voice softened by the robe, "I simply cognise how misery feels, so we could gait this sector and let go ourselves whatsoever event."
"No," Sourman aforementioned. "Let's not and say we did."
* * *
from Part Two: The Deja Vu Towers
The four companions sought-after out the scuffle place described by Ee-i-ee-i-oh-mir. Before longstanding they dotted it, and once they force up on body part and chariot, the assemblage of Urk and Oink object was unmoving smoking. A frost loop blew abandoned thesis napkins on the ground, and the aroma of dish condiment lingered in the air. Most touching of all, a inconsequential burn bobbit loop sat atop the stack.
"Then we are too late," Legolips said, his visage dire.
"Not so noticeably as a babe rearward rib to be had." Gimme hung his herald. "The outing is long-run quondam."
"I expected too past due for Morrie and Pimple," Legolips said. "We one-time them."
Bonyrear whispered, "Fate."
"Perhaps not." Airborne dismounted, perusing tracks in the muck. "Here lay a bobbit," he said, inform to a spot, "and another." He quickened his pace, pursuing the cloud. "They crawled distant from the fight." Airborne's tartly honed pursuit skills led him to the fore. "They stopped for a changeable and a beer." The other than three, more and more excited, followed Airborne confidentially.
"They phoned their broker," he said, inform to a smooth outcrop of rock, "and discussed how to lessen their tax onus by deferring gains in a Roth IRA, which allows for nontaxable giving out of the account's net income provided that indubitable conditions are met." He knelt, crawled individual feet ahead, and sniffed the terra firma. "Then an Oink came after them next to a hacksaw, and they ran..."
Airborne stood, sounding up. The others followed his gaze, and a wide consciousness of prophetical fell upon them.
"...into Fandango Forest," Airborne complete.
Copyright (c) 2004 Leah Carson