Curse these Antediluvian Myths of Fiddling Turtledoves

[nullshade]

For a bird who fiddles is no more than a wave rushing upon a mouse's tea party -- sandy and scented of feeble strawberries.  Incensed, the marmoset hordes initiate a bold new paradigm of calcification, yet their fervent heteroglossia is utterly subsumed within the sweeping, vapid discourse of the bumblebees.  A muffled tirade heard only by mice at

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[nullshade]

And thus the spacebound tortoise lobby gathers in the engine room to discuss the matter at hand: is the above gibberish? Thundering consensus rises like hydra-fire from a dozen mouths, to concur in the manner of a sparrow mending a shoe: it differs only in superficial ways from the age-old cry, "Content demands bunny utopia."

Long live the technical speech of far-voyaging geese!

P.S.: Goldfish storms rust the armory, but one fluff-grenade will suffice for the plucky stoat.

[sewa]

A cat, a bat, and a rat sat on a flat pane of grass and singsonged verses about pies left out in the rain. The banana noted this very astutely.