The Curious Dreamlife of Marshmallow Addie - Volume 10

Marshmallow Addie was tired. The pointlessness of his life and the universe was bearing down grimly on his alcoholism. He imbibed several quarts of faux-pale ale and waited sadly for slumber's knock out drop kick. He had done his damage for the day -- Yellowbottom had been abused by astringency and the impotence of deformed smoke rings. The evening was nearing ruin-time when Addie heard a curious dialogue resonating softly inside his cranium:

Crimorcles: Yin seaming sssearin', bouncie Yingliss conditions, the bassman haft bol whizzin parst his I. Chrossbatta strockplae will be thy undoing, chylle.

Pers: But but but uncul, I haft a heffe bottomham. I liek to be a swingin lacrosse the line. Swish and a mish.... muhahahaha.

Crimorcles: Bee quate, dammut glenfidget! Only plays wizz a strait bat in the wee. Blimey, zisnot crikey, otherweiss. But say, tell me sumfn. Aren you the lass who who boo, tallyho ina spwing time epidemic moo-maw, ziss a death skung? Aha. Ahahahaha. I new it.

Pers: Oker doker. Upper daiser. Harum scarum heeby jeeby.


And so on. Addie shuddered (and lost all his hair, for some reason) and asked the bartender to urinate in his glass again. This was the hallmark of a true bottom distilled ale, as opposed to a proper top distilled bitter or pale ale.

Unbeknownst to Addie, a slightly slow and entomologically challenged oyster, known more for its somewhat questionable taste in death metal tattoos and the homosexual version of the 'Mr. Mulliner' omnibus, composed a modern day masterpiece in the iambic pentameter. It was a saga stretching over seventeen thousand and four years, fifty seven of which were Addie's life backwards. Strangely enough, most of this came true in the order specified, but the part where Yellowbottom has a simple liver dysfunction was missed out for some reason.

Uncle Tallwhisker meanwhile, was having his usual joust with unmitigated solitude and reinvented the Tindall Effect.

Addie just stoked his celibate soul and let himself be reabsorbed into the simulated continuum of his life and the universe. Centuries would pass and a countable infinity of pints of bitter would make the unspectacular journey from oral orifice to the bottom of pigeon infested hanmattan sewers (reinforcing the well known hypothesis that human beings - and their anthropomorphically deviated marshmallow variants - despite their rapid advancements in BDSM Origami and Oolong tea research with Babboon extract, were little more than glorified beer sacs) but Addie would cling on to his cloak of mediocrity like two limpets. An old hen of course, cannot change its speckles.