Baby Pissboy Blue took a rocket-ship into who-says-so. Suddenly, the manager runs out shouting in a thick horse-accent: "You soccerstreet some-agains have a gain to be sure of it, and don't you mean 'engulfed by the... or maybe just quietly lapped, or even just tickled by the mere murmers of the suggestion.'?"
Cold as hands shaking hands with cold plans, Baby Pissboy Blue shouted right back in visual force, wall-eyed man, shaking eyes with air: "we've erred in the past good Swear, but this town hasn't the rind for the twixt of us, and I've sucked the mint of your moaning song-enough".
Not sterile, but medically clean stares hung in bags under the Manager's eyes. The clock ticks the clock sticks the clock ticks the clock ticks, errr... hangs there hot, but BPB knows just when to woo and sudden-twirl-kicks the "mere suggestion" back to the general direction of the sky. And that's where it sticks to this stay holding hands with the Main Plot with Baby Pissboy Blue and the Manager still "in the thick of it".
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