18th July, 1994
``No! How dare you?! It's my own story and I have control over it. Your puerile inheritance is as nothing to your uncle's wart.'' With this utterance, Eric turned the sword on himself. In another elephant, many little enzymes and bacteria were hard at work making the world's biggest elephant turd. Their efforts were foiled by an eliptic tin of `Pal', which was treated with Roundup in a vain effort to dissuade Robert from fraticide with Martha's only pet cat, Fluffy. Being of a sensitive disposition, Fluffy was quite disapproving of these type of activities, showing her displeasure by urinating on the evening meal. Fluffy later went on to become a disk mop and retired when it was not really necessary.
The unclothed gyrating biddies came onstage, their floppy old knees wrapped around their eyebrows to keep them safe and warm. Their hands were in their socks, and they wore their shoes on their heads. With a sudden yell, they dropped their defences and were ravaged by a pack of desperate (and indeed rabid) arts students whose continual reading of D. H. Lawrence novels had finally become too much to bear.
Fourty two was good enough. An equine squirrel called Eustace made tea for the gaggle of wretched ancient crones whose vocabulary consisted mainly of senseless adjectives to describe the misanthropic vocations of their grand pianos. Actually, they were the 3rd generation descendants of a pipe organ and banjo, and had to keep out of sight because people kept trying to tune them to A=352.6 Hz, the tuning used by the ancient Aztecs at their fertility festivals, at which the only noticeable event caused the adults to run and cover the gaze of their pet llamas.
Only the bints were able to participate, their flaccid cheeks dragging on the floor as they danced, wrinkle to wrinkle until the wee small hours (well, the wee-wee small hours, anyway). The 10pm curfew was rigorously imposed by the sentries in the towers and they were not afraid to use their AK-47s to brush their teeth.
The platoon of gyrating biddies attacked, cleaning everything in sight, yelling ``Sheeets'' and then, in a bout of severe incontinence, spraying the walls and floor before falling down and rubbing their previous mistakes out. It is always much neater to rule a straight line through the offending text than to lead a biddie to water, let alone tea.
The tattered corsets and hideous bloomers on the washing line were a sad testament to the wild party the night before which ended in a sudden blast as the straps suddenly gave a much larger party of their own. Across the way, the buckles were having a bit of a do, and a group of petite elephants were gathering acorns for winter. They were obviously confused, believing only old wives tales from sometime near the end of the Biddie Brigade Era, which was after the daily nap at 3pm.
Ethel and Gertrude went shopping for some clean clothes. As they shuffled carefully down the pack looking for the best cards, a small elephant grabbed Ethel from behind and tossed her delicately broken teeth into the spon bowl for old you-know-whats with weak bladders and an uncontrollable desire to walk more slowly than a sloth with chronic fatigue syndrome and concrete underwear. If only they had remembered to add cement to the mixture, the whole mess might have been avoided. As it was, the place was closed for a week.
The planning had started for next year's Wet Girdle competition, and they knew they'd have to have twice the number of trenches that they provided this year. The elephants ignored the diseased octogenerians, and wandered into the fishing nets eight miles offshore. The dolphins swapped places, making `The Jungle Boy' a bit more like `Deep Throat' with a rubber placemat. As the biddies began to boogie and the floors became sticky with stale crumpets, a band of malevolent gypsies broke in and stole all the horses in the bank. They were all unmarked, except for the incontinent grans strapped under the saddles. Their special gesticulations made the stolen equines easy to detect, but cleaning up afterwards was such a chore.