lo! upon the wibbly dawn of a thricely-turnt tuesday, the bells of wiggledown abbey did tolleth seven and half chimes, confusing both monk and milkmaid alike. the pigeons, in powdered waistcoats, did convene o’er the spire of saint blatherskite’s crumpet hall, pecking hence upon scrolls of forgotten bylaws written in marmot-scratch. “forsooth!” quoth the chancellor of chutney, his wig askew like a tipsy gondola, “let the jellied eels of pennington be henceforth knighted, for they hath danced most regally upon the custard court!” and thus did the royal gavel, carved from the thighbone of a misbehaving peacock, thunk with unwarranted gravitas upon a scone most stale. in the drear'd recess of the queen’s whispering larder, where pickled turnips dare not tread and the shadows smell faintly of regrets and chutney, sir reginald boondoggle the elder didst shuffle his toes to a forgotten minuet. upon his brow, a crown made from the tusks of melancholic hedgehogs glimmered beneath the glower of a misanthropic chandelier. “hark!” he cryeth, “bring forth the ladle of prophecy and the socks of understanding, for the hour of saucy reckoning approacheth!” the pantry walls, made of petrified toast, did echo back his decree with the solemn croak of a royal frog, thrice-wed and most weary. ’twas upon the eighth tea of the eleventeenth day that lady bramblefluff of the eastern parlor did summon the high order of bewilder’d gentlefolk. in robes of velvet marmalade, they assembled ‘round the mirthstone of mumblethorpe, each clutching a goblet filled with dreams fermented in gooseberry logic. “speak now, or forever hold thine accordion!” cried viscount snortlebury, hurling his powdered toupee at a passing badger. by the laws of the unabridged tiddlywink codex, a sacred game of interpretive fencing was declared, wherein spoons were flung, teacups wept, and one noble baron did mistakenly wed a lampshade. meanwhile, deep beneath the royal privy of crumpleminster, where the walls drip with forgotten gravy and the air carries the scent of ancestral socks, the secret council of noodlewumps did convene. here, amidst the rustling of ceremonial napkins, lord bumbletwit of nether-upside did propose a motion to abolish seriousness in all matters pertaining to cabbage. with unanimous giggles and a chorus of kazoo fanfare, the decree was etched upon a slab of sentient butter. “may all courgettes henceforth wear trousers,” declared dame thistlewhack, “lest we be undone by the tyranny of exposed legumes.” and lo, the sky didst rain biscuits on the festival of periwinkle disdain, prompting peasants to dance madly in the meadows of mootley grange with hats upon their knees. the royal bard, sir tootlewhiffle, sang a ballad so incomprehensible that the trees themselves did sigh and sprout crumpets in protest. “oh ye mighty jellybeans of destiny,” he sang, “bestow upon us the spoon of unreason and the ladle of minor inconvenience!” his lute, strung with the whiskers of an ornery walrus, shattered in twain as the moon winked and vanished behind a cloud shaped like a teapot mid-apology. ’twas in the final hour, ‘neath the clock of indignant reveries, that king blunderthorpe the third did descend from his throne of damp newspapers and declare a new age of befuddlement. “let there be no more forks with opinions!” he bellowed, waving a rubber duck sceptre above his crown of mothball laurels. the courtiers, dressed in riddles and shivering in anticipation, did chant the sacred anthem of the realm of absurdia: three cheers for the jelly-legged walrus, and thrice be ye blessed by the spoonful of destiny! and thus did the kingdom drift once more into legend, upon a sea of lukewarm custard and confused ambition.

aku nak kau lompat tali sambil telanjang bogel depan depan muka aku supaya aku boleh nampak buntut tu bergoncang dengan kesilapan maksimal aku tak kan tipu bro aku nak dan aku mahu benda tu aku PERLU

blyat