Tall and thin and young and ugly, the boy from Lucky Hill Road comes towards me, and...
Note: Not all materials from the book will be made available here. Some materials are missing from the start so you might want to get the book. This story is told from a Carib-Jamericanadian perspective, in a richly blended language mix of; nonsense talk, sensational spelling, double entendre, poetry, and Jamaican Patois. Yes, wordplay is the order of the day around here. Yeah, Man, a Jamaica yaad mi come fram, sorry, I meant to say; I'm Jamaican born and bred, okay? "Twisted Tales from the Big Fail" is book no. 2 in the series, and it's available wherever books are sold, if you don't see it, ask for it. Enjoy.
"...You owe me one, my friend," the intruder said to him under his grin, "and it's pay-up time now, hahahahaa."
"I owe you nuttn, nothing at all, and I'm nobody's friend," came the refrain to plow through the grain, damaging the entire harvest for them, again. While hitting up against him and his name tag pin. Look, there it is. Right there beside his lapel button, but it was nuttn, nothing at all. Just boxed in there near the empty shell locked down under his sheep's skin where all the hard feelings stopped and grew. Yes, the soft ones were there too, no doubt. Parts of at least one-half of them will be swimming in a frosty ditched-out heaven, soon. Dishing out something near and dear to the hut's out-posting sticks sometime before noonish. After ten as a matter of fact, my friend, "If you need to be fed with a spoon like me and Alfred dem, or else..."
"Or else what?"
"What the fork?" Came fatty's remarks. "No, go fork that? I mean, park. Go, park that part and come back again, let's talk fox, like the falling rain." As I was saying, it'll be dished out of the pots and into that someone's mouthful of talks, soon.
"Well, where's he now, the fat man of a ram and his cousins like cows?"
"Look, that's him right there. He's sitting in the gloom right over there under that tiny tree house room with the rest of his goons." That's where he's planning to shack up his new home with a few guest rooms, I'm sure. Someone else's efforts at making room for more, like, for the coming boom somehow, yes. After there should come the reborn, the one that's coming into the birth house of thorns to sit down at the usual address, Norm.
Such coming things had so far, brought them nothing but glooming something sin ting, like, yawning on the false alarms, (or true.)
"Um," yeah, that is the one truth that someone else is now hastening to run headlong into, right?"
"Yes, that is the truth, mi yute. I'm talking to the youth over there by the shoot, spreading em wide to either side and trying not to get too many watery droplets on his booth. Up until this break of the latest last morning sleuth of slates that came popping out someone's pants foot. But wait, what the heck does he care about anyone? "Look! He's coming again today," little brother heard him say. "So, get prepared, or go away."
"Where, where should I go, west?"
"Yes, I'm sure, since you seemed to consider it beast, I mean, best before, like, the expiry date. Better than all the rest, Gord, even the Ape."
The end was fast falling on them all, wrapped up warm in their old-timers' evening gowns and waiting in the hall for the comers to come running into them and to cull, sorry, I meant to say, call, but. They'd still have enough fighting will leave within their gall, I mean, gut. At least one of them did if not all. One never knows for sure what metal they're made of you know, since they hardly ever bother to go, yes, that's what I'm talking about Sir Beau, war. They hardly ever go to war. Not until or unless they're pushed too far, which is just about what is being pissed off, sorry, I meant to say, passed off. Yes, what is being passed off to them through the bar right about now. A situation where they'll be forced to show how, it's done, so, look. This is it.
The swivel-faced old man was sitting and watching if foods were getting ready to find themselves a place on their shelves, to sit. He looked on as grudgingly as he could stuff in the tin can and shook his topmost top end up at the new real guards' man and his men coming on down towards him sitting down on his thin in Hingston. Those whose noses were quickly turning up again to watch their eyes looking down the road as roses grew on him and his kind of thin lines, as usual. "Have you seen any of them yet, my pal?"
"No."
"Look nuh man, look nuh, there they are, those walking along right there with somebody whose gal friend bare bar... um, did I say that right?"
"I don't care ma-hite. Mi nuh, mi nuh eeven knoah har like that at all."
"I already know that you don't know her, that's all." But they're coming anyways and closing in on us, to get close up enough to where lucky Lucy is standing up as if on duty. Standing on another mound thing and waiting for something like..."
"Like, like what, the bus?"
"Yes, I think, or some other such thing." While taking a wide-eyed stare at the glutenous, there. Trying to come in and gut ten of them and us, squares. To go over and cook up a roast again, rare. While the old man mumbled the worst thing he could stumble upon, cursing the hurting out of his system on their blameless bottoms, good and proper. All of them are now on this side of the plain land papa. "This is going to be the new source of somebody's pain." So complained the ancient name who was sitting there within a shaky frame. Just a few too many walking feet away from them, those who are not too meek, but coming in to leak before...
"Now, leave that kid alone," he growled, "and go about your business." He said this with his voice raising just a tad bit above his hearing pits. Still knee-deep into his scorn of them to get it through their thick heads quickly. But then, what he didn't know was that the kid was their only business show there this time around the hoe, machetes, and ground forks. All that peasant farming tool sorts that were scattered haphazardly about the yard, Leigh. Scratching was happening too, under three or four of the hens' claws in shoes. Those who were getting ready for the draw to sweep the yard clean. Trying to come up with some food for their beautiful new age chicks and..."
"And what, and the mean?"
"Yes, you too mi lawd. Oh yes, My Lord, what else did you expect?" Well, that would have been before he, (the old man, not me,) dropped in on things that didn't really belong to him. As seen through the eyes of the rowdy bunch of stinks and got dragged into the mixing bin kind of thing for their added reckoning.
"You," said the fat head, "like all the rest of peasants in this rat's nest head-on, are the cause of this one." He said this to the old man's fistful of further chagrin, and Ned's. While Miles slyly slid out from behind the hut of a shed that they called a house with a few too many beds, and ran away towards the south/south-west. The old man was skillfully helping him out by shaking his furlong of first-timers' fists for way too long in front of the intruders and their eyelash strands for their liking. Like, like hammering it with the hammer stick at the fat one's head-pan still, as if he was a Viking.
Still fixed hated on this little bit of walking stick bearing with his overweight self. Like this little bit that I'm holding in my fist itself. Meanwhile, the old man's head was moved back up from where it had fallen almost to be getting the round of his chin propped up on the hanging down spot on his stick's uppermost end before they came, but. The bunch of intruding slimy ends are now all riding in and turned on against the side wind. While mock ending each note of his song upon the tips of a drawn-out slang in return. Amen.
"Get out of my waey," came the fat man's response to disobey. Because, to them, everything remained unchanged from the new bad normal types of playing of the game that came falling on the old-timer and all of his kinds of lame, so it would have seemed, yes. As all the people like these in this space of mine eh, were beginning to see these things.
"Oh please."
"Yes, I know all about these, but." As seen through the eyes of fatty big Bratty and his kind of friend Li Mess. They're there eking out a living on next to nothing in recent times, at his new address. It was as if it was always raining on mankind. But, to them, like, to the fat man and his friends, it's just the new playing fields witnessing the next new players committing new criminal deals of the day oh, playing them for fool hitch nests again oh. I mean, "ish," like, foolishness.
With nothing left except leftover pain and broken scraps of eggshells from the latest hatchets they'd salvaged and selt, to get it sold on them. On crash n carry away, of their everything. Just as easily as chicken and checks in their pockets on payday that's worth as much to them as a pocket full of hay. "Nothing," is probably a better word to say about what's coming off them, to us, as if it's a game. Well, as it pertains to those from the other side of the plain, I'm sure it is. Like, nothing but a game. But what is just a joke to a mischievous little kid's mouse, means death to the weaklings in the rat's house. As seen through this old man's gaze and his cache of kid's knave, like these are. Just bush frogs to them, we are. We who are being played as a game. Which is just about to get started to blow up in flames, right about now. Somebody there knew that much about the score, anyhow.
Lucy was a beauty when it came to him doing his duty. Somebody and his bunch of rowdies sliding in and around my daddy's paddy must have known that much already about the youth e!
"Lucky you, old man," said the fat low one, "you're about to get a front-seat view of this one. You'll soon get to see him at work for a quarter of the feet in your pants end of touching the dirt." But of course, he wanted to say, fee, for a quarter of the fee in advance. All paid up and brought in, or two, wrapped up in romance. "Two quarters will still do. Well, if you want," he continued to blabber an ant. Lick the sheet out of the little crawlers too many feet, you know.
"Two pennies worth of your skin is a good and handy little purse for a senior's discount price on you and your worth, right?" He said this again and continued in spite. He grinned and winked at him twice, but. How Slim had managed to get in so deeply and readying to be skinned nice and neatly, again, he didn't quite know the reason for his name. How he didn't notice them earlier on, was beyond him and his program. He's usually as alert and quick to elude the predators' gripping hurting habits as a wild deer, or rabbit running up into him while he's wearing his crocodile skin shirt, like this one, right here. But it would have appeared as if those skunks over there unfit, came in unawares to him like the late shift at evening, up against the wind. That could explain away the reason as to why they would have managed to avoid the bulk of the stink from hitting up against him near the sink, hole. Even before they ever got to see him. Now though, um, never mind oh, I'm gone, just moving along.
"Are you going to show or what?" Fat man redirected his attention back to the boy's hand from the old man's cap, as he tossed the ask at him fast.
"What, show what?" The boy croaked out the notes from the depths of the pot in his throat. Yes, that deep spot where his last meager meal was stored up. "Oh, that," he continued and glanced up at the swipe pad in the claws of a duce bag of a swindle for a head of his, complete with two fat Aces to look at our faces. Still standing there in the places where a man's gaze should have been placed Sis, lusting hard and looking on in awe at the daisies. As the young man growled out another verse of his song's notes from the pages of oats.
"Shouldn't you be the one to show, though? I thought you were the ones dropping in on us, no?"
"There is no 'us,' buddy, not as it pertains to you and your old pops over there. Everything belongs to us, the real us," he said, "Even the crops and the hairs, and that cache of hens laying down on eggs over there," he said this whilst spreading his stinking finger across his friends' faces in linear. Like, as if it was the front window blades needing to be wiped cleaner than your shades. To get them rid of their sins to be saved you know, but no. That was designed to show them up for dinner, like, showing off the thing that they wanted the most at the time, for getting a bit further away from turning thinner, by not doing the dine. Like, on food, like too many days of them being away from the crumbs falling off the table that you'd spread before them nice and good, I'm sure.
"Okay," he said. Just as the fat man tossed the heel of his palm on the backside of his almshouse thing. Yes, the thing that he carries around for an arm most of the time, most high, Hingh, and which was said to disrupt the calm everywhere he goes around town. Look, it's turned up now to face a cup filled out to the brim of his new old-time not-so-friendly companion's face within, in haste. To remind him how it's done you know, just in case.
"Swipe," he said. Lucy obeyed the command and reached out his arm, swiping it in a slightly Zaro-like zig-zagging motion to try and redirect the big man's scanning gaze from the oversized clothing that he wears on his blades. Those same ones that were hanging on him there at the time and shaking as if in dread.
Afraid of what the clock was striking the day to have them say whenever they said things about him and the condition of his permission to stay within. Or go back to the old man's cabin for further scrubbing, perhaps.
Out comes the gadget stretching towards him, and fretting was up in his face, chatting. It was coming from the kit that was tucked under his armpit, the funky place where it was put in what smells like stinky old ...it, sheet, um, shirt, or some other such thing, plentiful as dirt.
"What the fork is going on here?" Fatman queried his ask in alarming fear, while squeezing his eye skin almost to a shut-in, trying to zero in on the queue slot there I mean.
The dial had lost control of all the heart it had in its hold upon the vial. Coming in the form of splitting the hue in its dialing shoot in two, or too many little pieces for its own good, you know. The gumption to stay put had gone capote and was wobbling its way all over the face of the day. From six to six, probably. Then flipping across the zipping to drag the darkest part of the night Ted evening, in. Via the same ways and means committee that committed yet more sin than him on me. Like, ten thousand times per minute I'd say.
Meanwhile, the lone hide guide standing before their eyes was hoping that the second time around was going to be a lot better than the first. Will it? Sit, take a seat on this long bench of mine, and allow your eyes to shine in, deeply. Yes, I'll tell you about that, and this, of course, if even a little bit off course.
"What, about what, the first encounter of sorts?"
"Yes. It was like this." Slim skin Lucy was in for a beauty of a whipping he wasn't going to be forgetting any time soon, mi yuty. Yes, my youth. Got himself into a ruckus with the wrong pack of hog husk goons from the other side of the loom. He did put on a good show that time, though. Too good if you'd bothered to ask me of mine,
"Oh!"
Yes, I know, opinion is considered a thing gone wrong, went the way of a crime scorn these last days long, gone are they, but still. If you'd bothered to ask as to how it was to go a swayed so fast on nulled blades of haystack grass, I would have told you more than that, and fast.
Six of them were a bit too much for the young kid to go touching his stick at the end in good stead and avoiding the hard luck of smelling the residue of the muck mugging when he gets back home to the inn and his bed. Oh, look, the bugs buzzing again, at his ear on the nether side of his forehead. Or more like, if, if he's lucky enough. He wasn't even done training his pops legs yet about how to stand up for very long but, yes, I'm coming to that. They spread him out on a batter board and beat the living daylights out of his trailer load of clothes. But the gods were on the kid's side of the waterlogged road a bit it would have seemed to this sneaky little snitch I'd supposed, and the mean one too, like this.
Despite the jellybeans that were left in the yellow stitched threads on the seams of his baggy jeans, he'd gotten a bit of wind still in.
"Or was it under, it?"
"Probably there my brother, yes, over yonder, sit." He still has a few good friends around by then too, including a big little brother who was always as good in a fight as his last pair of running shoes. But still, all of them together was good enough for him to weather the storm, not you. They picked him up and dragged him home, that was when...
In the meantime, though, back over there is where we must go, because. The big man still wanted to know, "What the hail is going on, what's wrong with the thin man's horn, sorry," he said, "I meant to say, 'arm,' with your arm. What's wrong with it, whiz kid?" Which was the same one-tooth speech of his, come to think of it in this biz pan kind of Nez. Horn or arm, at least he had some on, for the time being. "What's wrong with your arm, have you been messing around with the chip monk under your skin bump, the one that we put there last month? Have you tampered with it? You'd better not," the big man's knuckled, finger-fisting tricks had a hit song scored on the fore-shoulder of the kid's hand above the pit that he carries under it, towards the bolder.
"Ah-woo!" I heard him call out to me and you.
"But-but, why?"
"Why what, why did I not answer back?"
"No, why did he allow his guards to fall so hard in front of their eyes once more, mi lawd, and so firmly on the flat?"
"We probably won't get to the 'know' part on that corn bump of a guy's pop e-show sort of jerking cord cap, but..." This would have happened after the question that the fat man was asking got past his last string, by sliding out past the half-skinned bulging neckline under his teeth less a jawbone of mine. It then got into the habit of irritating the young man's earing small pits and eat, I mean, hit, and hit upon his last nerve endings at the end of the week.
"It's just about to harm you, that's what's wrong with it," he said to the big youth buck and-and, and now, look, he's seeing red. He's acting like a brat instead of a man. Resisting his bedpan again, against his mom's command. Wanted to squirt a little extra work for her and them you know, on another patch of stinky-smelling stained-up car pet in the back of the van that she'd owned, amen, now, go. "Is he gone?"
"No."
"Well, let's continue along with the song, anyhow," so he seemed to have said to the young man, as it would have seemed to this sneaky little someone looking a head off the program. As seen through his longing eyes as he looked in through a flashback to the home of my, I mean, his, his home. The home of his childhood dreamy lullabies habits alone, but. The impact of such a big talk seemed to us to have hit hard up against the shortest inside track of the big shot's hot spot. Jerking the worst thing out of him and the other bigger kids than him and their hatless head-tops, those that were quickly pulled closer in. Coming in and up from around the back sort of spread, to get up a head or seven from where they had been dicing for leaven, I think. While I was sitting there and watching Lucy-Slim spreading out the proper formation for someone's deathbed "ding" by dimension.
Acted as if they were jumping back out of a sweet little snort of a nap that they were on you know. Perhaps trying to pacify the big man's wrath alone, well, let's leave it a loan, so that they won't have to live on water and bread alone. This along with the chart-hitting speech would have stirred the big man's path just as fast as the rest of 'the brat pack.' Up to the boiling point of the cooking pot, you know. If it wasn't up north near a lost cart already, Hugh-go. Might as well join the bandwagon train now and go." Because, yes, the rush roast was on the tablecloth somehow, somewhere.
"Sit, sit down," was what I heard.
"Yes, have a seat over here," he said, "and eat." So, they each took a plate amounting to about seven or eight and ate their steamy little pieces of hate away. Well, they wanted to do that, right away, but the big man's biggest temper was to be proven wrong again Sir. Happened when he swung a fisted fan like a heavy right hand at the slim one's eye risk head bond dead companion, yes. Just as rich as the I-man's hard-hitting armband that came to him and you from the wrestling federation. Rich enough to hit upon a kickback money laundering plot at the big man's but tux, I mean, buttons. Button galore and a-plenty, and badges that he had on him and his empty, something, sorry man, sorry for getting that one wrong.
But he couldn't say nuttn Mister bad man Hodges, nothing at all that is. Not even what hand it was that came back hitting upon him one, two, three, like, seven thousand times seven a day like me. Nor could he say from whence it had come to hit the pop charts' shortest path of every part of him home, really fast. To get him on his journey up and in against the rest of the gnomes in the rat pack, like him, and them. Those at whom I'm pointing out the way to the Jones Town types of problem math tick men in the line, ahead of them, man! It was like, like, sixty times six, hits after stunningly amazing hits. Boy! That DJ sure has a good ear for an eye, I couldn't afford not to buy. Neither could his wonderful wandering friends there with aim, I mean, him, yes.
They were there with him and watching the fixing good and properly, before. All of them now spinning around him and lined up in circles surrounding the property's door. Searching for the rest of his keyed-in door pins too, and the battery to activate the key to try and pop the gate for their entry in and to get through for me, fast, perhaps. Like, in ones and twos, at last, mi pops. It was just about to fence and frame him in, on you. Yes, they were trying to see the ghost wind that came in blowing them down the thin line to the ground floor. Flooding them with yet some more and waxing him and them bruised and round like... no, sorry, I meant to say, brown. Bruised and brown like; as brown as Buju's browning's dumplings.
"What, shop?"
"Stop that, because a loving deer was responsible for that applause, not you and all your faults."
They were just about to learn some more about the wonderful one's door full of new songs, filling someone's long pockets of feelings for themselves. Every one of them fell.
"On the path to hell?"
"Yes, my dear sister Nell. To go and check out the new-look Club Inferno, before the return trip back home oh."
"Where, where does she live?"
"Back over these South Sounding spheres here with Hugo and the kids." He who usually goes on the west bay end of the bend and stays there a bit too long, like, all night sometimes, at one of Kelly's bars again.
"But, but did it happen at all?"
"Wait nuh, man, wait, follow me closely along around the gate, you'll see the waterfall." It should have been an easy piece of cheese whiz please, like, please Mom, please, to please him by holding him tightly squeezed and take away his car keys.
But some e-how or another, Wee Pow must have been his brother, because. It was not turning out and over the engine, as they'd planned it to be wing on the brother's stinging, ask him about it when he's finished singing, not me. Like, something was about to be waxed and polished to a shine with hide looking a lot like mine. Yes, yes. Wink and shout 'yes,' and amen, again.
"Oh c'mon," he said, but. "Not like the first time, not like the first time. This is the second time." "Oh!"
"Yeah, that, the first fight-nigh time."
"Want to hear some more?"
"Yeah man, what happened, tell me?"
"In three little words, I'll agree for it to be heard, he lost it." He would have lost the first part of the two-part series on a miss-op with the walk past me, as I was passing along the hearse key rings of the Kiwis to get him home in it for meat; me, at the corner. It, it went to the big boss, of course, yuh sei mi?
"Yeah, man! I can see you, but, I'm still hoarse from laughing so hard at your horse."
"Well, you may just as easily ignore this one at once, okay mi cous?"
"Yes, of course."
That's what would have caused the extra cache of homework tasks eh? The one his dad didn't want to be talking to me about so fast, Ray. But, because his father was a bad asset, of a man, one who was asking me about his kid's kneecaps at the time..." "Oh c'mon..."
"Yeah, I'll tell you squats about that if you don't mind, mind you." Not just the greatest and best general surgeon was he, around those parts in the country of the third land east of the waste indeed. Yes indeed, he was, but. That's where it was and still is. Before all that was gone away from the worldly count three, as it was to become known to them and me my kids, at the same time.
But he was also a hail of a handyman with the proper tools of the trade in his left hand. Or even the improper right one, which is usually what he gets to fall back on bright man. Yes, man. The left hand is the next one that he tends to use best, Sam. So, when his son was dragged back home to him, with a bag full of broken bones within, acting as if the old ones were still whole and lined up properly in his beaten-down skin, you know what? Dad lit up his smoking pipe wide and bright. Then got inside the musky hut to work that night, and many others were to follow him through to the daylight. Working on rendering him a bit heavier than light and slim, so he could take on the heavyweight champs next time not just the light ones and fight it out to the win. He was lending him some support in getting the new bones in you know... "Despite of - " "No doubt, yes, I already know how that one would have turned out."
All he wanted from him in return was, to never let him see him beaten down like that old engine mound out back amongst the beetle bugs, again. Not after he'd gone through all that pain, bruises, and muscle strain, excuse me, please. Now though, go, get out of the rain. Because, as the flash scenes were to be seen showing up in his father's overactive brain, "I hope he's learned how to master the pain, that's the only thing that still worries me a lot," his papa mumbled under his thoughts, but. This was the time to show his pops and the rest of them all how far he's come away from that fall, yes, manly men. Fell like the falling rain coming in to call. Look at the scene again, yeah, man, you can see the rerun via this little tin bump of a program thing that I am in on the lump sum and reminiscing, yes, it has a companion within that's recording everything. Come my darling, come stand by him, I mean, me. Come a bit closer to me and see.
One, two, three times in, and then it happened, look. Every time the big man gets back into his lying habits of lying down on the ground like this. Acting you know, acting as if he's blowing up and rolling off a tantrum throwing fits of rabbits-hits from the background. His warships the mayors and the other one without the named swayers' hot comb. Those who were targeted for no other purpose than for showing off this one ounce of Players Lite, (drunk-a-lot,) as the main focus. All for distraction you know, but. It was also the act of them trying to teach Slim a lesser lesson than him, "You know what I mean, right?"
"Right."
"Yes, man, you're really bright."
Fatman was a moment later, getting dragged up off the pavement crater, by the helping hands of two or three of his own braver men than me. Braver than he would have been by then, if you can still sei mi, I mean, see me. If you see me say "sure and amen."
"Sure, and amen."
"Ten Q, now, let's roll this circus of a show all the way home, and in on you." While another handyman was brushing off the rear-ending parts of his knee pants, you know what I mean, Champ?
"Yes, yes, the new pieces of sheet E kind of cloth he was trying to place his waste things on fast, right?"
"Yes, I agree." And which was to then be handed off to the rest of the clean clan's men to weep on, because.
Can't have the big man standing in front of a stranger leaner person than I am, in. To perform with dirt on his under-arm pants, thing. Like, while acting as if he's got barbed wire in his? wait a minute Aunt Enid, no, settle and cease. Sue is who I meant to do, to say, and, sorry, remember her? Yes. Well, don't ever reactor, because. That one can't do, we don't want her kind of servicing shoe, so, tell me, can you, like, dig it?
"No."
"Okay, leave it a loan I'd say, and go." So that the kid may be able to purchase and pay for whatever he May, owe, or even June.
"Oh no-o..."
"Yes, it can surely fit in ma room."
Meanwhile, the slim thin of a sin thing still being a child in sin. Lucy has the profile of one who was born to defile everybody and everything. Everything he touches tends to spoil in front of me, not him. But they didn't know much about the rest of the power shots that he had in his styling pot of sack shots, so. What they were about to see for the first time on that morning draw at the drafts line, was fine, like this.
The young one's right-hand e-man's fist was quicker than this silky sand on which the eye-man stands tall and stiff. Just like this spin fan in my hand e-zee zip lock bag with sharp spike heels on. Spinning around him like a bladed hand and dangling from handling another Anglin girlfriend from a long time gone.
"Where, down to the west end of the pond?"
"Yes, like, 'down, in Montego Bay,' where she and her lovely nests come from to sojourn and stay. Oh oh oh oh, ugh, oh man, remember how much you loved that woman?"
"Yeah man, but, but..."
"That's enough, because..."
He was readying his plans to land the fat man back where he came from. Yes, the fat one is who I'm placing all of the blame for this talk king sin ting on. He landed him shaking like jelly on his newly leased piece of land Ed ground provisions, Nellie. That's when the rest of the men entered the ring as was the planned program Hingh, again, and does for me what friends did, to him. Going along with him to the ending. Well, they were trying to, that was the plan as intended by you, not him, but. That was when those who were a moment ago standing by him and looking at him low, down there where he came from, like, from down below the elbow of each man's hand, me down to the toe. As he was coming in from the cold ground, which was fast and furious at becoming his deathbed that night. A flat rock band hit was his pillow too, just like a big beloved darling, darling, darling, please consider me nuh man, so he said, but.
Not on this day, they were going to get exactly what was coming their way, mi bred. They were to then brave the bruising scaves of the spinning blades and run into the grave. Just by trying to try and see if they could save the fatling knave a fat chance at learning how to act and behave, like me even. But his pride would not agree to be denied, not by me or anyone else this side, of Eden. Because he wouldn't have had any of it left on the losing side of the kays to the west of me and my sea, so. He fanned all seven of them off the kid's leaven and sent, like a pen pinned pan him scarf above the navel, again.
"Where, in heaven?"
"Yes, where you were and keeping the records just like the capable scribe that you are, you know, like."
Like, just like the same devil of a one that they were with, in the brawl wash pan all six. They then went squabbling for the last skin off him, while asking about his belongings they were wanting. Would have happened while they were going through their soon-coming-to-them pant pocket full of strawberry brewed broth pulled in from their minds on open-mouthed talks of it, and whine. Trying to decide who will be the merry one taking off with it to get home as fast as his food kicks knees can... can, can you allow me, please. Allow me to ask a lot more questions like these, please, like, about what it will mean for us to have these.
"Yes, ninety seconds more."
"Ten Q."
Having it to themselves is what they needed most, you know, like, whenever they're done with him and you. Licking it up against the pillar and posts. Yeah, I know, this is more than a little bit screwed up for you, of course, but.
"This one is mine, though," said the kid to them in a very de voice vine low. Almost as low as where their heads were at the time, no?
"Yes, very near and dear to where the hem of their gourmet pants was when they were coming in from far too many chances at stopping at those chatterbox doors on the way south for more. It sounds like crying to them."
"And har?"
"Yes, Sir, I think you're talking about her, but no."
No good at all was the result of that crawl. But then, they hobbled up and down the bend to go do an about-town turnaround for him and them. Trying out their winning arm at turning things around for the fat one on a tentative stance, as shown. "Can you still, like, see?"
"Yes, carry on, carry on for me."
"Okay then, let's confess, I mean, continue; to tin you in a tight-lid can, if nothing else, as you already know that I definitely can."
Look, Fatman is now facing off again with the kid in the way too big pants for his pumps and pride fame at a dance from way back then, but. That same one who a moment ago had lied when he told himself so, saying that he could right the wrong on this other side of the pond South of Benbow, came back to apologize with the sharp point of the hidden knives. But the brute of a trite wasn't very nice, took to tumbling down on the kid's very life-ending. After the gig with way too many wives and the chopsticks that were his other man's bride's mending, added yet a bit more clicks on the scaled-up slab of meat. Weighing him down heavily on the poor pickney, yes, yes, my child.
Eventually, he gets a stronghold on the kid "ding" under him, wobbly. Was readying himself to go stepping into the suit, gladly. The belt, and boots too, the one that was way too big for the kid's foots of shoes that he wears on his feet, whenever he's out talking blues to the melodious songs and beats. Just like a world-class wrestling king of a champ does and sings the notes wrong, when seen in the news from above the tell-lie vision. Pinning the kid "ding" dangling dung under him and the rest of his mal-handling lump sum of something from way downtown. Summing it all up to a laughing winning showdown for him and his cronies' companions to take back home to the inn.
"Yes man," said another someone, "good thing." Got him right where he wanted him, he thought. As seen via his eyes popping out of his stinking sackcloth of an unthinking skin part. But he was not too big on winning the smart, so it would have seemed to someone looking on from afar. As seen via the tallying upper score ring too, of this inning on the score boarding to tally up in the view, because. He lost, he was in for his last belting of the sort from a kid with a lot of helping from the string swimming from somewhere around his heart, and wing. Have those types of string Hingh sin ting on almost all body parts of him, as a matter of far... I mean, fact. Parting from every port on the north while one is on the way out back.
Kiddo might be thin and slim oh, but he packs tons of lethal punches within his funny bones of jokes. Jokes were popping out like puffs of smoke while he was punching off some splitting images of skin-toning bump-ups. Now, somebody is about to find the punchline within his mouth froth, none such as I'm given out of...
"This one last laugh is mine," said the waxed and polished to a shiny kid.
"No kidding."
"Yes, that's also what he was heard to have said out there that evening." This is probably the best time to use something of my own doing on him, thought the kid from within, like, from somewhere around those parts where his heart hurts. He then took a liking to getting some wetting on pants matching his wayward companions. While watching the rest of the rowdy bunch of romance ticks' onions, yes, those types of ticks crawling all over the onion pits were the nuances that lost it. While they were laughing off their last kicks at the winning chances of having it all, Sis, if nothing else. By now, the big man was exhausted, but he was happy because, Mass Kidd. Look, he's got the kid pinned under him, and having a whale of a time squeezing the last Kacie and the sunshine bandage that he was handed, out of him. Squeezed everything it was dealing out you know, off him as quickly as it came in.
"No matter where the bucket chooses this time to stop this lifeline of mine," he said. Like, like, if even to drop him and his reasons bare and prime here, on the death bed, of mine. "I'm sure that?" yes, he was more than half sure that he would be coming out on more top than that of thine. But, as seen from behind a patch of dirty ole greying hair on the pork barrel of swine, that's not how he was seeing the signs at this rather critical point, look. He's not laughing quite as often anymore. Surely, not as much fasting is coming off him as his pastor was asking before now, but...
Taking a chance at taunting Slim with what they were wanting, was the rest of the crew of saints now freed from sin. Now they're cheering everything out of fatty while prodding him along the edge of the Allan Bamboo wagon, within. That was the place to start a good bit of something, even before they would go in for the final kick-off of the "dumb thing" to finish up the act at the kill Hingh off of the prang from the back lands' parts of the bunking.
But the kid was still willing, still able, and still had some skills left under his table at the naval-based stable of a pentalene's' vest of the indies, I mean, his knee, left under his knees, west of the bird's nest.
It was there beside the right one too, yes, the right knee is what we're talking about for free, and true. The very best of such was free for them to get their kicks on and off me, and you too if you were found hanging around with those clowns while passing through on the way down towards the sea, but. The big man's big bag of seeds will soon be able to say "abblle," please, please, please, at least one more time before these.
"Before what?"
Before he'll be able to give the rest of his buddies an insight as to how some things feel right. Just after swallowing one's sneeze along with the Pride brand of rice and peas he'd just gone into for a sumptuous bite, of these. Yes, these types of super rice seeds came as no surprise kids. The groin wasn't mine, but his, but it was where Slim landed his kids, I mean, knees, his kind of kid knees. Which were a lot smaller than these, look nuh, look nuh man. You know what I mean, right?
"Yes, mi know, I know what you're saying, but go away fast because, those legs of his, will apply the parking brakes on your own Ask King partly because..."
"Yes, I know, they're made of metallic scraps, flexible sheets of something looking a lot like steel glass, and a leather cloth of some sort of sheepskin part was the bag fencing and framing them in, all of his new body parts were there within, so." After he was done delivering the pack of power, he rolled him over the raspberry patch of mixing powder and slid out from under his two-piece shuddering shoulder blades. Those that were covered by some sort of bearded heads of hair, and the powder kegs too, yes, they must have been there, because. Dusting was happening, somebody was shaking and dropping a lot of the rusting off his half-big, broad-boned bed frame and skin. Showering the kid with the muskiest kind of dusting, before the rest of the brat pack of handling beholders like rats from sewer storing path, covered up under your asphalt down the path near the soft shoulder. Ran back to their places on the softer shoulders of a downtrodden boss, and into the task of helping him grow older.
Then took to launching another soldier of an attacking pushover on the but tux of the little brat soever. But they could not save her, because. Slim was way too fast for him and them put together to catch the baldest point of Miss Piggy's "oint" meant for two pints of seven men's pens. Now void of the ink, clination within them. He was so inclined to climb up and out from under the boat, and the other men's too, as they were about to shout "Yes! Yes, woo!" all those other old apartments too, fell off most of the brother's men onto you, and now his marked marksman must go and ask for one of those, them. Like, an insight as to how to repent and get four give nests from their wrong I'd supposed, because...
Lucky Lucy then hopped further upon two of the other men's rotten little things looking a lot like you rats' pushover stew to them and him. Just like columns on the canyon's horizon, he went. Up a column or two walls he meant and sat ten feet taller than them. But on a branch up a carefully measured length from the descent. Was there taking a nap and readying to go watch the rest of the argument from his hammock, as they tumbled hard to the fullest length where they fell and dropped; bud-duff, Slim's two thumbs went up. He went off kicking and screaming and laughing too. Kicking the hell out of the screaming little brats' stinking smell; rotten as, well, I can't quite remember who, but. All the rest of the healing too, fell out of their sack full of, yes, hard feelings, please. Because, the kid, unlike the rest of the thieves in the cribs, was not just doing his job, for fees.
Watch the scenes again if you don't believe. Boy! he was spinning around all of these and wheeling their hardest feeling away, as each one tumbled on the full fall yet further down the wall and away. To go and get settled in nicely into the usual routine near the splendid waterfall in old Carron Hall that day.
"You mean..."
"No, look at it and see for yourself; not like the first time, "not like the first time," he said while pointing a finger pointedly at each of their heads, no. "That's not how it's going to end this time at all Mister Hall."
"We're even now, I guess," he said to the corpses now at rest on their regular dirty beds, or were they?
"No, not all of them," as I was to have heard it tell-say.
As time and circ*mstances would have remained too many days, or as it would have pretended to relay such things to you in some strange little ways. He glanced back over the shoulders to behold eight humanoid frames below her lying there, and telling yet more lies on him again, as I was to hear.
"He-he, he wasn't even there when they came falling in!" she said, in a bewildered-looking gaze at her friends and away from him and fatty's men, still lying there, in bed. For the first time, Lucy was more than happy to hear her, or anyone else for that matter, say that someone was willing to swear on his honor, that day. And take up for the rather bad grammar on even a small part of a brother's ask King way too many questions, man. Happened while he was turning around to walk away.
Because he may be small, yes, but his new legs are stronger and taller than them all, I guess. And as fast as a piston blast from the lightning bolt's past, past me the ball, please. Yes, that ball, the one that he who is a saint threw last Saturday night at the community hall near the football field, for you all. Saw him spinning that web of de feet off every one of those "the thieves" while walking away, just like a propeller eh, on air, even. To go and deliver the invitation to you fellows that day. "Leave him alone," some protesters were heard trying to say. So, here we go, walking away. Yes, as you might have already heard someone say; wordplay is the order of the day around here.
