Chris C.
Yelp
I eagerly travelled far across the sea for this highly anticipated climb. But, during my travels, special card in hand that I had to specifically withdraw from the salty fish museum, I must admit I grew weary. Here is why, I will explain it below, as concisely as I can, hereafter:
On my hand, I had a bracelet made of cloth. know that I passed many a fisherman holding long slender rods. they lured me, but persist I must for my destination was still forthwith.
I found the sacred tower, and bellowed a triumphant grunt heard throughout the monastery grounds. My Bolt driver swerved but his aim was still true. I was worried about losing my cool, in front of so many of my fans. the tower was beholden to no one, but somehow, a queue as long as a basilisks tusks, stretched greatly into the foggy morning mist. a single small tear fell from my jaded and weathered face. I caught that tear with my tongue. It is a dry day and water must be conserved. i appreciated this gift of moisture provided by the mighty and strong tower. the queue made me want to die. I passed out. when I awoke people had zig zagged around me. my abdominal muscles were sore and I had to use the bathroom. I felt as though my muscles have become more defined. actually, I have been working out, and it has been going well, but there are definitely days where I don't like to work out. my hips gyrated in the wind. the tower was so prominent in my vision. It was magnifique.
I crawled toward the front of the cue, inching closer to the tower, taking note of how the sandy steps felt being dragged upon my moderately defined abdomen. The steps were sandy indeed. I salivated. (There was a smell of fresh mollusks wafting in the breeze).
I reached the precipus. The noxious odor of BO invaded my mollusk filled nares. They flared with alarm. Surreptitiously, I flashed my Lisboa card with gusto and flick of my wrist. I had been practicing this move hard for this moment because body language communication is my one flaw. I wished so much in this moment I had remembered to wear my birthday pin so more people would acknowledge my special day. The man bellowed with his trumpet like lips "NO", in a song of denial and rejection. I gasped and feelings of saudade interrupted stream of consciousness. Grimacing in displeasure, I realized I needed to release my lisboa card to the ticket chief chicken bacon officer and a steady stream of moisture unleashed from my seeing oracles like the mighty Tejo river. They flooded down my ripped abs , and if one was listening closely one may hear marimba jazz like a xylophone of jazz. My very own fado melody.
I succumbed to the shape of the tower. Which Ppead appeared as though it was as large as a bottle of ready-made Enfamil formula heated in the microwave with gentle, caressing powers. It's nutritious and supple body ready to provide sustenance to the world at large and nutrition for my abdomen the protein provided would surely be almost as great as a chicken bacon officer, which was head on my mind as I was reminded across the waters that the yoke of civilization belong here at the tower of Belem, this was a mighty and joyous civilization, but now has fallen to the wayward with security and lines of which proportions you'll never know about this tower will make you feel gratification which exploited my abdomen and made me the man I am today: A large child with sticky hands. Someone vomited in the distance just now. I clutch my belly and feel the sorrow of it once again, adding to my fado song.
New ticket in hand, I scrambled up the winding tower on all fours. fast. With raging vertigo I reached the chapel at last.
I let out a final grunt-like note of my humble tune, my song was complete.
I left the tower feeling uncertain of the future and all it holds, and I long for the tower to this day. Its phallic nature will forever be etched in my withered heart.
sincerely,
the Crazy Critic Cranimal
Ps stop dm-ing me I don't socialize well and my inbox is becoming full