Drawn Out Bottle Brushes

There I was sterile as a ping pong ball calling out toys, I never call out toys, but they kept coming into my store waving their lottery tickets, like little brass bands, each one with a big tawdry boom dat der ship had parceled. I would, and did, get real back on my haunches, you know, back like an upper animal and wail out their names, Hey! Har! Oh! and they’d grid like pottery along the wall, those old earthenware jars with the flower-flamey rims excavated from big BC and you wonder if those pre’s ever wandered through our museums whether they’d go, Hey! Har! Oh! they saved our dishes! Then the headphones and notebooks started coming in, though, those types, and that’s when anyone with half a loaf snaps the drapes and whistles himself to sleep. But hey-har-oh I don’t think so.

So I got round the counter as a pleadin’ sarbine set of pages comes flappin’, wavin’ its tall ticket, and you know they don’t have clean tickets, their tickets are all filled with polyfulmanides and sphynx, but I get it in my paws, still back on my haunches mind you, claw, claw, and I says to him, How many you need back!? and the big gluey spine cracks and says, Half, half, har! And fine. Fine. So I reach into the register for his change, the ice cream spilling out of the fridges by now of course, and all the little toys chattering with their big pillbox teeth, and I garbs, Can you at least make room, sir, you can see how them little dolders is getting confused down with the insects you’re boxing ’em out so solid around my counters; and I’ll tell ya I’m not a dime if I ain’t a dozen that lewd reefblaster reared back on his jitterclown hooves and apologized!

You never seen ink bleed like that, as they say, the big bookmarks dripping co’op tears in dirty piles o’ snow and all them little bugger toys start running around in the melt, cleaning their armpits and scrubbing behind their needly ears. Who bathes when the ice cream’s out? But they did. Down right by the drain pipes they were drawing bottle brushes through their pites and gurgling sports drinks like a lord makin’ a point o’ using his wine as a breathfreshner and a backscratcher ‘cept these dandies had figured out my new radio and had that slathery notebook bringing all his firm headphone buddies down to their fours n’ eights to play wit ’em, the toys, see, and sing the top songs right there beneath the tickets.