The Exador of Froth and Beards

...whereupon the Orator tows on a party-going reservoir of Fosters lager flattering the sputter that has undersurfaced the pips of his ensuing 23 minutes pricetag of substance to utter and the stupendous flow gaspsBEARDS! and the dainty bubbles overspill his brain with an excrescence of tenuous mouthfuls to chew on the speciality of nursing a beard. Beards! Beards! With top floor hands he stakes the promised land nudging Tesco's trolleys bulldozing the Big Issue jump jockey with his erudition and pretty soon he snares an imaginary legion of biblical-beer extent. But the lifelike be-a-nobodies plenty-to-do along with blood running cold hide-and-seeking his eye supposing a put-up to this mucking about excited bean belly-butterflies — he might bend a knee to the explosive riddle of the philosophy of fuzz.

© 2003, Christopher Barnes

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