Everything is dying, I've got to put masks on all the fish to prevent them from recognizing each other. For instance, dress up a flounder as a trout, a piranha as a ptarmigan, working wings and everything, each animal reassigned as you see fit. But don't leave it at that, take some initiative! Lions tailored up as caribou prey on moles in falcon attire fervently trying to burrow with wings made to cut air, not dirt. Pick them off like. They figure it out eventually by trial and error, don't eat the chinchillas anymore, they're piloted by dogfish, catch on fast. Everything a possible misnomer, your stapler is a museum without your knowledge, transposed after some pencil-pusher in Washington left a stray mark on your F8-21-7(a). Suddenly your 31 page econ paper is held together by three impeccably preserved crocodile mummies, talk about an embarrassing chat with the dean/Egyptian Embassy, but it was nothing compared to the time I proposed with a flawless 10 carat diamond I picked up on layaway that turned out to be the wrath of Achilles, Sing, O Muse, indeed, never had a chance with her after that, try slipping 25,000 lines of ancient war poetry over a broad's finger and you keep the candlelight romantic and not a metaphor of inchoate rage... women... but maybe I got off easy, I mean I discovered just the other day I'm actually the hairs of an old man's beard required for a scavenger hunt held by the Boy-scouts of America in 1957, try breaking that news to your wife over red wine and raw oysters on your 10th anniversary AND that you don't love her anymore AND that you're fucking the pool boy.
Check please.
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