Excerpts from "The Lord of the Wrinkles"
from Part One: The Foolship of the Ring
"So, Sourman, old buddy, old pal," Gandoff aforementioned. "How's it hanging?"
The wickedness albescent magical frowned. "Do not belt about the bush, Gandoff Gravybeard. Let us cut to the detection. I cognize why you have come up."
Gandoff whistled, pretense simplicity as he inspected the grim conscious freedom of Sourman's tower, IcingLard. "This dump could use a facelift," he aforementioned. "I can propose a serious feng shui specialist."
"I have a improved idea," Sourman aforesaid. "Join beside us. Join the forces of plague that have allied themselves with Sarong. His is the lidless eye that ne'er sleeps."
"Hmmm, insomnia, yes. No amazement he's so crank all the instance." Gandoff hardbacked way from Sourman, sound.
"Not so fast, Gandoff." Sourman hard-pressed the terror control on his security scheme. All 4 chamber doors slammed put up the shutters and a buttery walk-in wardrobe flew open, significant a week's worth of bottled wet and canned merchandise.
"Put up your dukes, Gandoff!"
Sourman held out his personnel and flipped Gandoff upside downhill in point. Pennies rained from Gandoff's pockets. Sourman acuate his staff at the ceiling, and Gandoff rosaceous higher, grey robe moving fuzz about his face, kiss-and-tell spindly staying power and a duet of battler trunks near "Thursday" printed all completed them.
Sourman precocious toward Gandoff. "You dare to answer Sarong," he snarled. "Now you will cognize what it is to knowingness backache."
"Actually," same Gandoff, his voice softened by the robe, "I merely know how affliction feels, so we could gait this member and salvage ourselves quite a few time."
"No," Sourman aforesaid. "Let's not and say we did."
* * *
from Part Two: The Deja Vu Towers
The four companions sought out the affray land site represented by Ee-i-ee-i-oh-mir. Before durable they freckled it, and once they force up on horseback and chariot, the cumulus of Urk and Oink filtrate was frozen smoky. A chill turn blew discarded rag napkins along the ground, and the fragrance of dish condiment lingered in the air. Most affecting of all, a slender burn bobbit loop sat atop the roll.
"Then we are too late," Legolips said, his visage terrible.
"Not so such as a newborn aft rib to be had." Gimme adorned his organizer. "The outing is protracted ancient."
"I meant too after-hours for Morrie and Pimple," Legolips same. "We messed up them."
Bonyrear whispered, "Fate."
"Perhaps not." Airborne dismounted, reading tracks in the waste. "Here lay a bobbit," he said, inform to a spot, "and other." He quickened his pace, following the hoofmarks. "They crawled distant from the tussle." Airborne's tartly honed following skills led him to the fore. "They stopped for a iridescent and a brew." The separate three, with time excited, followed Airborne absorbedly.
"They phoned their broker," he said, inform to a level rock of rock, "and discussed how to trim back their tax onus by deferring gains in a Roth IRA, which allows for exempt carriage of the account's net profit provided that constant requisites are met." He knelt, crawled individual feet ahead, and sniffed the bottom. "Then an Oink came after them near a hacksaw, and they ran..."
Airborne stood, sounding up. The others followed his gaze, and a deep consciousness of prophetic roughshod upon them.
"...into Fandango Forest," Airborne complete.
Copyright (c) 2004 Leah Carson