Delusions of Granduer
I was entertaining the thought of World Conquest when suddenly, it escaped me.
Upon trying to recapture my thought, I stumbled and fell hitting my head, producing a dull ache and causing my countenance to falter.
Making haste, I pursued my thought through neighboring hoods of previous ideas when suddenly, I was waylaid by a band of obtuse ruffians, causing the dull ache in my head to become more or less pronounced, and my countenance to falter further still.
I was just about done for when suddenly, I remembered my trusty pistol-gun, (a Quasar 3000 $apfire, its plutonium @t!as microchip sheathed in a cobalt casing), and shot the callous ne’er-do-wells dead in the face of reason.
Ah, sweet relief. (Paid a ten-thousand quid-blips for that baby. 'Bout time she was used for something other than lighting mojo-snippets and searing rat dragons.)
Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Seeking building permits for my castles in the sky.
With verve and pomp, I stepped over the nonentity obstacles just in time to glimpse my thought of Global Domination crossing the Toll Bridge to Nowhere, and quickly made chase.
I whipped out a crisp fiver and tossed it in the toll bridge bucket box but the pencil-necked attendant with the small-man-complex said, “That’ll be five o’one.”
“NONSENSE!!” I cried and hurtled the guardrail to the Toll Bridge to Nowhere.
Whistles blew and jackboots hit the pavement as a band of kaleidoscopic pig sergeants made chase.
I was just about to give the holographic B-siders the slip when suddenly, a mirror bird swooped down demanding to see my passport-voucher from the Land of Somewhere.
Without breaking stride, I produced my document-papers to the wily warbler, which he quickly validated with his sharp beak-point and double-plussed me with complimentary bottle of cartoon hole fluid. Acme brand, the best.
After rounding a tight corner-bend, I stopped and poured a generous portion of the loony elixir right in the middle of the road.
Ah, how grand it is watching kaleidoscopic pig sergeants fall to oblivion through a freshly poured cartoon-hole. Their nothing but mirrors and beads, you know?
I was just switching on my titanium rust oxide turbo chargers when suddenly, I spied my connotation of World Order reclining under the spreading boughs of an iconoclast tree, not too far from the deep end of the gene pool.
Feigning devil-may-care I crept up on my muse of Planetary Take Over, coaxing her back in my arms with a one-way ticket on the High Noon Train to Pandemonium Ville where we plan to dine on crow, (with Space Ghost and Marlon Brando), then catch the Sunday-Bloody-Sunday matinee showing of Apocalypse Soon