A short story using some of the positives that English has left behind. It was a dark and stormy night and although I’d left in a state of array, by the time I arrived at the promptu party there were two ways about it: I was maculate and peccable. Furling my wieldy umbrella I stepped chalantly through the door. One person in particular stood out. Her hair was kempt, her clothes shovelled and she moved in a gainly manner. She was descript, ruly and draggled. I was plussed - I’d seen anything like her a told number of times. Although persona grata and a sung hero, I was something to sneeze at and you could hold a candle to me so it was evitable that we should meet. “Skin off my nose”, I said to myself. Then someone petuously offered me a drink which I advertantly gurgitated. It did me some good at all. After a terminable wait, I was capacitated. This was new hat to me. I had givings! With swerving loyalty I walked straight up to her. “I’m Droid, I molish houses” I said, consolately. She looked me up and down with bridled passion; “I’m underwhelmed”, she replied but offered me another drink. I was gruntled.
Posted on: Sat, 09 Nov 2013 17:20:28 +0000
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