Morton Koopa Jr.'s mighty toed foot came down into the marshy abyss. The mud encapsulated his tarsal region with the utmost grime. He felt the power enter from the tips of his lower talons up to his massively healthy biceps. He flexed with the grandiose influence of a thousand celebs with beauty-filled shoes and got a righteous following of 10k.
"This is your foot life, eh, brother?" Iggy inquired with his powerful shovel stuck in between the shell. He tried desperately to pry himself open in order to find his lost tickets to the Kongo Bongo Koncert. Donkey Kong would be very cross should there be a lack of his coolness at said Koncert. It would be like weightless broncos dancing in the monolith's shadow.
"I hate all unclean countenances," sighed Morton. He thumped the tomatoes in his brother Roy's deliciously pink garden. They had yet to ripen.
"Stop being loving of such horrors," said Iggy with intense ear-having. "They cultivate madness and a strict ideology that camouflages true guilt."
"You are the guilty one," snapped Morton. He snapped the twigs and then the bones of Dry Bones. Said Dry Bones's name was Harry.
"I am not a wizard," said Harry. He had a friend named Wrong the Monty Mole.
Wrong evolved past the misconceptions of reality's flaws. He broke into a sweet song about the publicity of prune sodas and politics. The lyrics were so pulchritudinous that they caused Iggy to weep and halt his natural occurrences.
"Belief is a mighty fine symbol of hope, no?" said Morton, cleaning his muddled foot with a butter knife. He articulated right between the meaty digits and hollered to the night sky about the allure of hygiene.
"So proper is this turtle creature that the cruel world despises his wisdom!" commented a Shy Guy named Mr. Fillmore, the toe-namer of Trunks the Boo.
"I am here to rename you," booed Trunks because he hated Shyamalan flicks, especially Avatar by James Cameraman.
"I hate cows," said Iggy. He struck the earth with his magic wand and produced a dead flower. Such an offense is why we use harsh words against our neighbors.
"Cows are stinkin' life, homes!" Morton shoutly angrily with furious fists emblazoned in the trust and accuracies of our quantum masses. The electric eloquence of the forefathers ruptures the firmament with desire and just retribution.
"No other day has come forth brother," said Iggy saintly as he picked up the pieces to his shattered jigsaw of enigma. He caressed the puzzle of mortality with the firm thumb of gluttony and iridescent benevolence.
"Stow this logic," rumbled Morton. He drove the golden pike into the sand. Harry, Wrong, Mr. Fillmore, and Trunks arrived via their Lego Rock Raiders Tunnel TransportTM and broke out the billion-dollar syrup fountain. Trace bits of catered maple sap landed upon the beautiful Koopa tongue and danced among the buds. Morton initiated launch sequence and aspired more wholesome attributes to enter his cycle of reunification.
Iggy backed away, shoveled the ground below him, and fell into a deadly lake of molten, hot lava. He was liquified in an instant and his glasses glinted in the horrid aftermath.
Morton wept for this mighty loss. He flexed his biceps harder, with more thorough upbringings. He hoisted the magnitudinous boulder high over his large head, and tossed it into the syrup bottle, closing up its frenzy of outpouring sins. He believed in glory, honour, and life. No land would ever again be tainted by such evils. Morton had faith in his musculature and his brotherhood.
FIN
Dedicated to MegaYanmega. Thanks for the idea!
"Greyhound and Peter Pan are collaborating and I don't know what to do."