The viridescent manhandling gauge of immense graphics scraped against the fruit-bearing chingle dingle, or as Steven liked to call it, "a fucking stupid jar". He crammed thus another glass receptacle into the jar, the glass tentatively slamming into each other, shattering into dozens of free-falling and verdant, cerulean linoleum splinters who had no place yet resided everywhere.
The trees in the area groaned and moaned as the lumber-gem continued swathing the innocentiarial bazzomba forest with fallen timber, slamming into the ground with a wooden crunch. The explosion of the treestock slammed a carnivorous childrenchildkid over the disgruntled and grassy land, slamming yet another smashed grappled ingot of deathwater.
Steven couldn't help but blush at the lithe and crackling, rippling, super superior figure of the gem. As he did so, he realized that the glass jars were being unattended, and as he looked back, a glass projectile supernova assaulted the tables of the house.
"He laughed so loud he farted spaghetti and meatballs"
"WHO SAID SUCH THAT?"
Steven crumpled and receded back into the house, slithering into the glass jars of death.