A decisive dance lactates mildly.
Piglets gleefully gobble frantic mice.
Marbles clack about ashtrays wildly.
Pink potions topple from a TV vice.
Reality spackles roads of green brass.
Tequila trickles onto topsoil.
Oompa-Loompas puke up disgusting grass.
Grey rain slashes across crumpled foil.
Tall boars apprehend a black robbed spy hog.
But they failed to spot the saurian sub.
Raincoats wade in Windows' withered dark bog.
Naive pirates plead for a private club.
Ill island translucent stones incept growth.
A second Spain succumbs to dreams of both.
I read the first story in the new Sirenia Digest, the conclusion of "THE YELLOW ALPHABET", while I was eating lunch to-day. It was good (the story, not the lunch, though the lunch wasn't bad, consisting of a baked potato and three corn tortillas). It continued in the vein of the first portion, providing vignettes for each letter of the alphabet, picking up at the letter N. N turned out being for Naga, in a nice story that reminded me of the woman in Queen's Blade who wears a live snake for panties.
I think Z was my favourite, though, having to do with dragons whose names begin with Z. It has some nice thoughts on the sexual implications of dragon myths.
I had a really nice time playing World of Warcraft last night. I actually stayed online longer than Tim, who ran Galatea, my human rogue, through a big mine in Badlands that began with a U (can't remember the rest of the name. U is for . . . ?). I found the perfect balance--listening to Howard Stern and drinking tequila seems to fill the places where WoW is void of substance perfectly. WoW has a Howard Stern and tequila shaped hole.