As Geary Not-ted and fretted his tour upon the strange, little did he land squarely on the family restaurant where he was greeted by Jim and the others shouting Hey Mother! These wandering menstruals brought great join to him and Sindy and there was much re-jesting.
(Hey is Everything still OK? It’s Scary Stuff, I know! What will become of Geary Perfect? Will he serve live? Shoudly even? Stayed tuned four a Part Two!!)
And so, it came to piss. Geary and Sindy sullied fourth to seek the answer to the parenthetical question and to secure a safe passage on the Flight Path—little did they know what great beatles that would come to flight on this querulous pest!
(Hey, is Everything OK? I mean, can we do this? Tell this, his, story/history? Hers on the side of caution?)
This is the seen where the Crown Prince actually dentally fell (teeth first?) in lava with Sindy. Oops!
In the ear of our lore, the 696 exit was a shortcut one would take to Save Time (the legendary future Time Saviours were unrequited in this story after and before themselves, sort of. But perhaps that’s a participle some other tome.) Every buddy knows however that this Last Exit was plagued, invested even, with the ghosts of dark sergeants, kaleidoscopic creatures and passing choirs.
This is the scene on witch, where the glorious Sindy first appeared to Geary in a fission reaction.
It was also the realm of ‘Someonehay’, or, as he was known to the inhibitants of the terra lengua, the Crown Prince of the Tongue Biters. One would do well Not to take this route too, seriously. However, Geary was all for Not and so he plundered on.
For the purposes of misadventure, our here-owned Geary Perfect went out to baldly go where no Geary had ever gunned by far on a mission for Not. This may seem like a strange destination, but if you don’t think about it at all, the other endings have already been taken. So, it makes sense, doesn’t it, Not?
One despondent time, there was Another One. You know the type—bilious, anxiously, aggravated—one of those incomplete tea-sets, all in his cups with no pot. Let’s call him Geary Perfect. Or Geary Cliché. Or whatever. All things considerate, he was just another in a long list of them. Our everyman, our Donkey Hotey…