Glotney Doldrums and the 500 Pound Milk Moustache.. by Horace Slatz

From the squalid, dimly lit room came a wet burping sound, the rustle of lettuce and the moist slap of cole slaw on cement.

The Nexus thusly formed, hammered ceaseless greetings, a vituperative prologue thinly disguised..

With guarded optimism the strangely flatulent shout "Box!!" Twisted ephemeral renderings(cloaked and spineless) dance spongelike, wafting exonerated pancake clout. The "Bulbous" shall arise, harbingers in the existential dominion of Wad.....

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