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Zombie-
Zombie-walking-
Zombie-walking-running-
Zombie-walking-running-sprinting-
Zombie-walking-running-sprinting-flying-
Zombie-walking-running-sprinting-flying-falling-
..... head-first through the ghostly clouds.
Down, down & down.
Like a bullet of steaming flesh.
The groundscape constellations of a monster metropolis approach.
Tommy Rot the Zombie continues to tumble.
His breeches rumble.
Golden pennies flood from his pockets creating precious twisters.
Down, down & down.
Until,
*RiNG-A-LiNG-DiNG* sounds the doorbell of the bookstore.
Tommy Rot grinds to a serendipitous halt and surveys the scene.
-----------
-Shopkeeper behind counter studying porn rag with magnifying glass - irrelevant.
-Man leafing through book entitled 'Eugenics & the Nazi Blonde Beast' - irrelevant.
-Young girl defacing Lady Diana posters - irrelevant.
-Brown dog licking its own knackers - irrelevant.
-Two old ladies huddled in a corner whispering.... - hmmm, *SiNiSTeR!*.
-----------
Tommy drags his club-foot over to where the codgers are and turns his good ear to their hushed chatter.
Old Lady 1: So, what did you do?
Old Lady 2: I popped a hungry ferret down the strides of a stern marksman as he was taking aim.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Penelope do?
Old Lady 2: She guided a naked sleepwalker into the rowdy atmosphere of a crowded pub.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Betty do?
Old Lady 2: She entered an arm-wrestling contest with a spike deviously concealed in her palm.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Doris do?
Old Lady 2: She visited a palm reader after rummaging through cow dung.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Lottie do?
Old Lady 2: She botched a jovial sing-a-long by inviting a despised villain.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Emily do?
Old Lady 2: She ventured into a tavern's crowded snug and let rip a rasper.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Florence do?
Old Lady 2: She released a swarm of buzzing blue-bottles during the funeral service of a respected citizen.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Maureen do?
Old Lady 2: She floored a pacifist monk with a flying roundhouse kick.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Veronica do?
Old Lady 2: She cunningly concealed a dead-man's scotem in the salad bowl at a village get-together.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. When is the next assault planned for?
Old Lady 2: On the coming full moon, October 13th.
Old Lady 1: Splendid. I shall prepare with foresight and precision.
Unseen hands push Tommy away. They usher him out of the shop. They flick his leathery ears.
Beside the traffic-jammed-horn-honking road, a white elephant waits.
"Sweetie, you're late" the beast chirps. "Master John Paul will not be a happy camper. Jump on pumpkin, and ride me to the Master."
-
Two blocks away in the basement of Burger King, His Holiness the Pope paces up and down looking at his Rolex.
"Where in the name of Lucifer has that Zombie got to?" he mumbles, as he slips off his boxer shorts and snuggles up to a drugged Cliff Richard in a four-poster bed.
Zombie-walking-
Zombie-walking-running-
Zombie-walking-running-sprinting-
Zombie-walking-running-sprinting-flying-
Zombie-walking-running-sprinting-flying-falling-
..... head-first through the ghostly clouds.
Down, down & down.
Like a bullet of steaming flesh.
The groundscape constellations of a monster metropolis approach.
Tommy Rot the Zombie continues to tumble.
His breeches rumble.
Golden pennies flood from his pockets creating precious twisters.
Down, down & down.
Until,
*RiNG-A-LiNG-DiNG* sounds the doorbell of the bookstore.
Tommy Rot grinds to a serendipitous halt and surveys the scene.
-----------
-Shopkeeper behind counter studying porn rag with magnifying glass - irrelevant.
-Man leafing through book entitled 'Eugenics & the Nazi Blonde Beast' - irrelevant.
-Young girl defacing Lady Diana posters - irrelevant.
-Brown dog licking its own knackers - irrelevant.
-Two old ladies huddled in a corner whispering.... - hmmm, *SiNiSTeR!*.
-----------
Tommy drags his club-foot over to where the codgers are and turns his good ear to their hushed chatter.
Old Lady 1: So, what did you do?
Old Lady 2: I popped a hungry ferret down the strides of a stern marksman as he was taking aim.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Penelope do?
Old Lady 2: She guided a naked sleepwalker into the rowdy atmosphere of a crowded pub.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Betty do?
Old Lady 2: She entered an arm-wrestling contest with a spike deviously concealed in her palm.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Doris do?
Old Lady 2: She visited a palm reader after rummaging through cow dung.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Lottie do?
Old Lady 2: She botched a jovial sing-a-long by inviting a despised villain.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Emily do?
Old Lady 2: She ventured into a tavern's crowded snug and let rip a rasper.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Florence do?
Old Lady 2: She released a swarm of buzzing blue-bottles during the funeral service of a respected citizen.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Maureen do?
Old Lady 2: She floored a pacifist monk with a flying roundhouse kick.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Veronica do?
Old Lady 2: She cunningly concealed a dead-man's scotem in the salad bowl at a village get-together.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. When is the next assault planned for?
Old Lady 2: On the coming full moon, October 13th.
Old Lady 1: Splendid. I shall prepare with foresight and precision.
Unseen hands push Tommy away. They usher him out of the shop. They flick his leathery ears.
Beside the traffic-jammed-horn-honking road, a white elephant waits.
"Sweetie, you're late" the beast chirps. "Master John Paul will not be a happy camper. Jump on pumpkin, and ride me to the Master."
-
Two blocks away in the basement of Burger King, His Holiness the Pope paces up and down looking at his Rolex.
"Where in the name of Lucifer has that Zombie got to?" he mumbles, as he slips off his boxer shorts and snuggles up to a drugged Cliff Richard in a four-poster bed.
Zombies!! Zombies rule!
Nice. Me like.
Nice. Me like.
Cuckoo!
But seriously, nice stuff. You mentalist.
But seriously, nice stuff. You mentalist.
I blossom. Never will or shall rot.
i would have liked it ten-fold if everything the 2nd lady said rhymed with her previous line.
I still thought it was good.
I still thought it was good.
I see my surrealist writings have fallen on deaf-ears.
Huh, the cheek of it!
Huh, the cheek of it!
Crikey! Surrealism lives.
Zombie-
Zombie-walking-
Zombie-walking-running-
Zombie-walking-running-sprinting-
Zombie-walking-running-sprinting-flying-
Zombie-walking-running-sprinting-flying-falling-
..... head-first through the ghostly clouds.
Down, down & down.
Like a bullet of steaming flesh.
The groundscape constellations of a monster metropolis approach.
Tommy Rot the Zombie continues to tumble.
His breeches rumble.
Golden pennies flood from his pockets creating precious twisters.
Down, down & down.
Until,
*RiNG-A-LiNG-DiNG* sounds the doorbell of the bookstore.
Tommy Rot grinds to a serendipitous halt and surveys the scene.
-----------
-Shopkeeper behind counter studying porn rag with magnifying glass - irrelevant.
-Man leafing through book entitled 'Eugenics & the Nazi Blonde Beast' - irrelevant.
-Young girl defacing Lady Diana posters - irrelevant.
-Brown dog licking its own knackers - irrelevant.
-Two old ladies huddled in a corner whispering.... - hmmm, *SiNiSTeR!*.
-----------
Tommy drags his club-foot over to where the codgers are and turns his good ear to their hushed chatter.
Old Lady 1: So, what did you do?
Old Lady 2: I popped a hungry ferret down the strides of a stern marksman as he was taking aim.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Penelope do?
Old Lady 2: She guided a naked sleepwalker into the rowdy atmosphere of a crowded pub.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Betty do?
Old Lady 2: She entered an arm-wrestling contest with a spike deviously concealed in her palm.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Doris do?
Old Lady 2: She visited a palm reader after rummaging through cow dung.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Lottie do?
Old Lady 2: She botched a jovial sing-a-long by inviting a despised villain.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Emily do?
Old Lady 2: She ventured into a tavern's crowded snug and let rip a rasper.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Florence do?
Old Lady 2: She released a swarm of buzzing blue-bottles during the funeral service of a respected citizen.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Maureen do?
Old Lady 2: She floored a pacifist monk with a flying roundhouse kick.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Veronica do?
Old Lady 2: She cunningly concealed a dead-man's scotem in the salad bowl at a village get-together.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. When is the next assault planned for?
Old Lady 2: On the coming full moon, October 13th.
Old Lady 1: Splendid. I shall prepare with foresight and precision.
Unseen hands push Tommy away. They usher him out of the shop. They flick his leathery ears.
Beside the traffic-jammed-horn-honking road, a white elephant waits.
"Sweetie, you're late" the beast chirps. "Master John Paul will not be a happy camper. Jump on pumpkin, and ride me to the Master."
-
Two blocks away in the basement of Burger King, His Holiness the Pope paces up and down looking at his Rolex.
"Where in the name of Lucifer has that Zombie got to?" he mumbles, as he slips off his boxer shorts and snuggles up to a drugged Cliff Richard in a four-poster bed.
Zombie-walking-
Zombie-walking-running-
Zombie-walking-running-sprinting-
Zombie-walking-running-sprinting-flying-
Zombie-walking-running-sprinting-flying-falling-
..... head-first through the ghostly clouds.
Down, down & down.
Like a bullet of steaming flesh.
The groundscape constellations of a monster metropolis approach.
Tommy Rot the Zombie continues to tumble.
His breeches rumble.
Golden pennies flood from his pockets creating precious twisters.
Down, down & down.
Until,
*RiNG-A-LiNG-DiNG* sounds the doorbell of the bookstore.
Tommy Rot grinds to a serendipitous halt and surveys the scene.
-----------
-Shopkeeper behind counter studying porn rag with magnifying glass - irrelevant.
-Man leafing through book entitled 'Eugenics & the Nazi Blonde Beast' - irrelevant.
-Young girl defacing Lady Diana posters - irrelevant.
-Brown dog licking its own knackers - irrelevant.
-Two old ladies huddled in a corner whispering.... - hmmm, *SiNiSTeR!*.
-----------
Tommy drags his club-foot over to where the codgers are and turns his good ear to their hushed chatter.
Old Lady 1: So, what did you do?
Old Lady 2: I popped a hungry ferret down the strides of a stern marksman as he was taking aim.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Penelope do?
Old Lady 2: She guided a naked sleepwalker into the rowdy atmosphere of a crowded pub.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Betty do?
Old Lady 2: She entered an arm-wrestling contest with a spike deviously concealed in her palm.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Doris do?
Old Lady 2: She visited a palm reader after rummaging through cow dung.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Lottie do?
Old Lady 2: She botched a jovial sing-a-long by inviting a despised villain.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Emily do?
Old Lady 2: She ventured into a tavern's crowded snug and let rip a rasper.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Florence do?
Old Lady 2: She released a swarm of buzzing blue-bottles during the funeral service of a respected citizen.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Maureen do?
Old Lady 2: She floored a pacifist monk with a flying roundhouse kick.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. And what did Veronica do?
Old Lady 2: She cunningly concealed a dead-man's scotem in the salad bowl at a village get-together.
Old Lady 1: Hur hur. When is the next assault planned for?
Old Lady 2: On the coming full moon, October 13th.
Old Lady 1: Splendid. I shall prepare with foresight and precision.
Unseen hands push Tommy away. They usher him out of the shop. They flick his leathery ears.
Beside the traffic-jammed-horn-honking road, a white elephant waits.
"Sweetie, you're late" the beast chirps. "Master John Paul will not be a happy camper. Jump on pumpkin, and ride me to the Master."
-
Two blocks away in the basement of Burger King, His Holiness the Pope paces up and down looking at his Rolex.
"Where in the name of Lucifer has that Zombie got to?" he mumbles, as he slips off his boxer shorts and snuggles up to a drugged Cliff Richard in a four-poster bed.