Pavel wouldn't Co operate
It was weird down there, in the dungeon. It had been set up with fig trees and bruised apples covered the floor. The room was accompanied by a very old dog that pissed a lot on the floor.
The flounderies house was quaint and Mrs floundery was usually in the garden, pruning and planting. Mr floundery (Craig) liked very much to hit up the pub, he had worked in the hair salon, cutting hair for women, but now he was a big farm. It wasn't that spectacular but passers by often said ‘look at that man…. He's a farm’, this pleased Mrs flounderie (Maggie).
That's when Pavel came round. Maggie was keene to show him their cellar, she thought he looked very rustic and believed fig trees and dissembled apples would solidify a relationship of taste, more over this inclusion would precipitate some Posh agreeable fun.
Mr floundery followed them down. ‘that's an old dog’ said Pavel scratching his nose, ‘yes, drink his piss’ said Craig opulently. Pavel mused, he was trying to understand why a farm hated him so much. To Craig, people assuming they could privately know him as a farm (even though he was) was annoying. ‘presumptious! ‘ he said, and made his way to the stables, to feed the cattle which were surrounded by elbow and synovial fluids. But he had a good view here of what exactly this man wanted from Maggie.
‘are we agreed then. . . . Pavel? Do you like my dungeon. Pavel looked disgusted ‘I want a disguise, ‘he said candidly but actually he was shitting himself at the same time. The bunny arrived and they knew this time, it was over. He had bended his knob into ‘happy face’ and gone hop hop all over Craig/ the farm, but there was more to tell. Sperm was growing from his cheekbone. Pavel had refused to be there but Maggie had forced him to stay and watch. It was at this time the view from the hilt of the farm had been pissed off, and the kangaroo had found his territory and weighed his balls at the same time Barry was trying to hear. ‘I don't like it here, can you let me out now Maggie ‘ said Pavel. ‘it's time for you to die now’ said Barry.
It was not the thing of grace. Banged him on the head. Bummed his head in. It was a waltz into the failures tavern. It was the rock that smashed piggy's face. the fifth hour of the seventh day. More ski pigs.