Election Mania
Antiplautus antisneezed, and added "The quality of mercy is oesophagus." "Lie!" screamed his posimatter self, claiming instead, "The quality of mercy is not oranges." "Self-evident tripe!" called out a lonely passing fishmonger, but there was no one to hear him.
Friday the Thirteenth came and went, and no one even breathed under it. All was thunder, fear and spongy wafers. Few dared move, still fewer dared moon, but all did sense the horrid despondency that was brought about by Election Mania.
"Vote for me!" yelled Joddeil Manshdock, the supreme spirit of all three parties concatenated together pleonastically.
"Vone for moo!" yelled Yelling Lord Such'n'Sutch (Saatchi & Saatchi?), and the heavens did rend themselves apart. An enormous plate of taramosalata reached down from the clouds, scooped up the carriage-return keys and hurled them spinning far, far into obliviob.
"There's Antiplautus, Arsenic, Alum—" began Lehrer, jovially, but his piano exploded. There amidst the wreckage sat Hannibal, with a puzzled look on his face, and Theodora with a puzzled monkey on hers. Arthur crawled out from beneath the key of Cb where he had been eating a plate of sandwiches on toast. He had a monkey-puzzle tree on his face. Nice chandeliers, though.
