16th April, 1990
Slowly, as the green orangutangs solidified, the setting sun sank into the swampy desert of McQueetzo. Meanwhile, McPhtang, the butler, bravely fought off two alligators and several bespectacled orangutangs who solemnly recited Shakespeare whilst clubbing him to death. Patrick Shakespeare thought mournfully (not for the first time) ``Oh why did I leave the gas on?'' This quote was to be his last as he inexplicably died. Luckily the gas was off, but the ticking bomb really wasn't much use for cooking egg sandwiches.
Anja's left kneecap was defective ever since her spectacles had been dropped in the coffee percolator, and the kneebrace had taken absolutely no part in the proceedings. This said, the said sed sailed sadly south sending solid sedentry llamas to death in Murmansk.
Notwithstanding the above green slime, the llama was convinced he was eating orangutang, but then Ozalp ate the llama, including all offal. Then again, he had no taste at all. After all, Alex always abhorred albatrosses, alleging allegations alluding ambivalently and assiduously towards the fiasco.
In a drawing room nearby, it was far away. Once this had confused yaks, but now only the orangutangs could not understand. Their green coats did not have aesthetic appeal to the american market and hence, after the great Elderberry Disaster of 1908, they were banned in all states except those allowed by Jim Heisenburger, the well known cheese and chutney full stop.
A red furry gentleman walking on all fours and wearing a monacle was barred from entering the exclusive hotel on the grounds that he was improperly dressed. To this he protested whilst spraying his hair green. It was a pretty colour, one to which he felt particularly partial. Protesting loudly, she stopped, and then again 3 weeks later. Again she tried 6 weeks later and eventually was elected the conservative member for Bexhill on Sea, before giving up all worldy possessions and running off to join the Greenwich Green Orangutangs who were always a bit behind the times.
A minute passed. At 9:21pm, it happened! Coincidentally, it had already happened on the page before this and was left to the next author to decide what to do with the other, unrelated, but so far identical, story of woe and misery. Isn't it odd how story themes just keep recurring over and over? As if orangutangs are a common comma, commenting cordially and coronially, consequently copious columns collapsed when in fact this sentence was stuffed by the previous author.
In a lighter vein, the opal was flowing into a new flavour of Jim, the green orangutang whose weekly trips to the optometrist were for his own sordid purposes, not porpoises.