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Rabbits contemplate seascapes and dream of fish sticks and crab cakes.

They are also quite fond of shrimp cocktail.

Sylkat

The strawberry flavored Woodpecker built an aircraft carrier on the bridge of my nose before skipping home in its tree.

A wave of confusion washes over you. You vaguely remember reading some post or other. You blink: yeah, it’s still there. There was a word right there, in the middle. Oh, I mean, sure, there were a lot of words, but it seems you could focus your sore eyes on that one alone, and yet, it seemed to contain most of the meaning anyway. Sure those letters are still in place, aren’t they? They could be spinning in a crazy maelstrom for all you know.

You breathe. Too many letters at once. Gotta try again. Hey, does this look like a joke to you? I can’t believe how lazy you have become to untangle the key to save what you so dearly used to hold!

What the hell! Are you talking to yourself again? OMG! Now that letter over there seems mad with rage. What’s that? It looks like a pair of fangs. Ha! Really funny. Like that frog croaking over there. Too bad this universe has never known water!

Open your eyes. Yeah, the nightmare was a warning. You’ve been dreaming too long and now it’s late. Again!

Welcome to Never Never Land.

All of the woodpeckers went to court in order to protest the fact that the clouds would be taking over every car factory in Siberia.

Concrete in the bathtub, concrete in the pillowcase, concrete in your armpits and fox pee under the tea cosy. This is the recipe for turquoise dreams. Make sure you put the copper dust on your eyeballs.

Drink tar water, eat a pearl a day,
and don't blame the railroadmen if your wheelbarrow collapses under your own sins.

Mr. Cheese was very fond of the taste of mattress springs. His son wanted to be a barnacle priest, but Albuquerque outlawed shells.

The sun rises twice a day, the moon sets twice a night,
but don't think you're allowed to turn over a new leaf and start living like an ant.

The millions move, en masse, in opposite directions. They ain't going nowhere, knowing not the location of their rate of movement. Meanwhile, the old man says "You'll never make anything of yourself!" while he whittles his wooden leg into the shape of a wooden Indian and it's wife. Hank Williams smiles. Speaking of Indians, the buffalo herds are back... with a vengeance. New First-person shooter out this fall. You know, they say first-person shooters teach kids pacifism. The Gods have descended from Valhalla, and proceeded to play foosball. That's all for the news. Stay tuned for yesterday's weather.

Fred Phelps and the rest of the Westboro Church are on their way to the Mideast, where they will convert the populace within a week.

He will then head to China.

Sylkat

Some of the carpet tacks laughed at the starfish when they played Monopoly on the back of a giggling sea turtle.

And then she was like "SOUR CREAM!"

Blue cheese painted in inverted hues, beach balls in the background, but still pink umbrellas are her only friends, unless you count the pencil sharpner in her shoe.

Crusty creepy crooks create crevices cracking crippled crystals.

Skilled squealing scum scurries skinning scant scabbards.

Guile-gulping gleaming gullets glaze glimmering gluttonous glances.

Bellicose brutes belch brazenly.

Sylkat

Time has been temporarily disrupted due to an implosion within the intricate pattern of my consciousness. One moment is never the same as it is at another moment. The cells within my body are constantly being replaced. I am nothing but a copy of a copy of a copy....