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Shakespeare discovery. RIGINAL.

by riginal (writer), moe australia, July 29, 2015

An ancient new parchment find bound to dog the great man.

THE GOOD THE BARD AND THE CUDDLY. RIGINAL.

Every essay company worth their bro flog freebie overpriced crappola knows what a mondegreen is so i won't insult their intelligence (their indiscretional rampart flogging of rancid spiel and stupid 'piggyback' comments precedes and reinforces their ignorance.) So bite me. Now now, don't run away you "duh" commentators. You can crassitate your stupidity and sell replica "duhs" at the end of my mondegreen. Or, you can soak in the well of your waterlogged thinly disguised true intent of "duhring" 'genuine' site abiding writers senseless! I mean this with the utmost disrespect. :>)

THE GOOD THE BARD AND THE CUDDLY. RIGINAL.

Shakespearean devotees worldwide are enraptured over a significant never before seen 'find,' of immense importance, a lost manuscript by the Bard, authenticated by leading historian Brace Yoreself and ninety-year-old Yubet Idug, distant relative of the great man himself and part -time document verification expert of X-piles fame.

Mr. Yoreself trembled at the enormity of the find. After donning micro thin gloves he read the frail yellowed parchment to a worldwide audience via CNN (Cor! New News!).

Shakespeare's love of his silky-haired beagle was profoundly evident. These are the words of the revered Bard. Verbatim.

May have been Nounbatim but let's not quibble over scant dribble.

"Was staring out yon window of abode pon hot August night, bemused methinks at the antics of March, the local tannery door-to-door seller of Ides. "Be off with yon smelly Ides!" saith i, as misfit smellbound thundered pon oaken door. The wretched creature spake slyly. "Oh Shakes me lord, ye silky-haired beagle Tobias has just been snatched thus recent me lord by local dog catcher and impounded!"

Grabbed not a sonnet proof coat did i. Cried as i tarried not with welled anxious eyes to yon shelter for lost hounds of the basket fulls. Upsettled was i, i rode the last few yard arm lengths jiggled pon shoulders of March, May i say, with fingers in offended nostrils. A man of greased cunning.

Was shown to barking cellar, terrified heart pounding, whereupon my reddened eyes were lid struck, my heart thunderstruck. No less than one hundred same ranting slobbering silky-haired beagles panting pon me. Sat pon shitified bench crying my sonnets off harbored spare in my stocking.

Finally i rose. Mightily confused. Ran from one dog to the other. I screamed out in agony at the uncertain mid night vexing identity crisis. I roared my grief. My anguish spilled over like a mid summer nightmare on Elm street. "TOBY! or not Toby!"...THAT is the question!" Took all dogs home hither. Lest evil March claim my Toby's Ide. Blasted dog! Bite me! :>)




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Bio...bioio...daylight come an i wanna go home. Come missa tele man tele me banana. A banana tele? Seriously would like to hook up with other comedy writers to engage.
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2 comments on Shakespeare discovery. RIGINAL.

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By Shane Joseph on July 30, 2015 at 07:17 pm

Brilliant! Particularly the Shakespearean rant to the floggers as your preamble.

Had ye been around in Shakespearean times, forsooth,methinks ye may have given the Bard a run for his money!

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By riginal on July 30, 2015 at 10:12 pm

thanks Shane, much appreciated. :>) The vent preamble was in sympathy with a very pretty great poet so digusted with the 'Ides of mush' and their 'sly' .com comments a silky- haired beagle wouldn't be bothered barking at, but may deign two paws and bury their essays ass under lest the land become covered with their trite 'assembly line' unimaginative intrusion. When challenged to defend their nonsensical they remain inert. But their droppings/'drop ins' cling like .com "hey you" proverbial to a blanket. Forgive them for they know not where they poo...sorry, what they do. Maybe their blankets of ridiculous sameness 'drop ins' need a strong detergent so that we can fight them on the bleaches? Ashes to ashes, essays to bulldust. And the floggers sit in a cloud of fog waiting for a call. They must be stationed in the alps, for their 'same old' yodel echoes echo from ravine to Internet ravine. What a bungled blurb lot. But still, they do have to churn a living...i may inquire to join, methinks monetary overides any feelings of guilt for their victims...convinced and essay brainwashed into thinking they can't write their own write. Or do these desperate times of frantic demand that it's best to 'page' a company and let them yawn your right to be an individual who can think...Then again, any email port in a storm? :>)

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