another silly story

Inside a rose there lived a muskrat with a top hat who sang trilledy-dee all the live long day.
In silver expeditions to the turquoise wool of my childhood I ate a superb truffle pie called "Trumblehead."
Existing as a dirt brick would be kind of cool I guess.
Paper cupcakes at a party for chips would be tres jolie, n'est-pas?
Vibrating along in a jiggly, finger-breaking triple D kind of fashion I rainbow'd into astronaut-helmets-r-us for a spot of tea and a chat with a peckish purple rhinoceros of the sort one often sees with pink leather fingerless gloves of the pop star variety.
Aquamarine barnacles, quite geloid in nature, trumbled in salty seas of kelp-tastic singularity. I sit in armchairs to discuss the phenomenon of barnacular splendifery.