Once, I met I man named Andy. He took me on a magical train ride and made me play with plush bushes of card decks. Then he jibbled at stuff, whatever that means. He bought me a pet hot air balloon named Sally, and Sally and Danny, Andy’s cross between a chihuahua and a parakeet, barfed all over the sunrise. Fruit Roll-ups were had by all, but not before we poured milk in the Siamese river and sang the Banana Boat sunscreen jingle. Then Santa came and we boogie-oogie-oogied ’til we just couldn’t boogie no mo’. Then Andy’s pants ripped so we went to Fabric Hospital, but it was scary in there so Sally chomped a chimp face and panda bears ran wild. All that glittered was mold.
Then we went to Moon Hospital and drank all the marmalade. Andy, Sally, Danny and I slurped spaghetti muffins and gazed upon the Milky Way, which was not shaped like a candy bar. Then we gazed upon the Slinky Way, which sprang and slank and slinked and everyone made pajamas. Kisses were shared on stars of barns. Santa had cherry cheers and ate some of Slinky Way and the crocodiles attacked, but Andy told them to go away, so they did, in peace, with fleece.
John Stamos came by and we said we liked his chimneys, so Andy traded stamps for chins and Stamos changed his name to Famous Amos and became a famous rapper that liked to bake boxed cookies you can buy at Albertson’s if you so desire. Albertson’s, in those times, made cakes with corn flakes and rakes and takes and other stuff that ends in -akes. Andy and Famous Amos turned Danny into a talking fanny pack. Santa and Sally made sweet, passionate love, and I fell off the sky. Those were the days.
What’s the moral 0f the story, Kiddos?
Don’t eat ramen noodles at midnight, even if it seems like a good idea at the time.