Fore legs good

    "'Twas Aye!" yelled the Speaker until his tonsils fell out, "Aye — the Nay's have it (and the vote)."

    The nays, indeed, were dying of it like flies. "Neigh!" they said, and flew. The flies pigged like death. "Fore legs good, back legs bad." The pigs balanced then overbalanced, overdetermined, by a volley of nays. "Throw the burglar!" said the telephone, answering, as ever, itself. "Drawer, the aeronaut," corrected itself, ever, that is. Dial 666 for the problematics of translation — no fish, I don't want to die like a Ney.

    "What, is he dead, then?" prayed pathetically the holy how-alliteratively heart brass-handled door-nail dead Hopkins (Gerard Manley-ish, also deceased). Martial! Yes, he also. Farewell, the plumed troop?

    But remember that one man (sorry, person; sorry life-form; sorry (ad infinitum))'s FiSh is another etc's poisson...