Saturday, February 7, 2009

Onward to the Village of Louis


The ragged Hound, neither Grey nor any other discernible colour, rode us (not the converse) south. The scent of urine and cologne-to-cover body odour was somewhat overpowering, but we found solace in fits of sleep in the unreclineable seats made of human skin. They weren't really human skin.

A half-day later, when we finally reached Louis Village we didst hike a great ways down the not-so-winding streets to find dearest Melissa's home. She lives with Arnold Schwarzenegger, in dog form.

Melissa served us a great dinner of fowl strangled, skinned and slaughtered by her very hand. She was gracious enough to let me chew upon the beak, by far the tastiest morsel. In our next days we explored, somewhat, the city, visiting the Louis Village Game Shop where the proprietor didst don us with fine shirts crafted by his very hand.

Our show with The King of Vessa, Peter of Fosco and the most-esteemed Kentucky Prophet! went off with not a hitch, aside from a full mug of beer flung back and forth between the Prophet and our Caretaker Melissa. Oh the vagaries alcohol will take one too, but after the undying strings of explicatives, etc, a stagnant sort of peace took hold and we departed into the night...Melissa to her chalet, We, the Prophet, our dear friend Matteo and company to an all-night pizza establishment.

Thank you all characters and subjects of King Louis, for what you have done for us. We owe you not only our lives, but a fair deal of money that we "borrowed" while you were not paying much attention.

I didst have a brief romantic entanglement as well with a gentleman cursed with a most odd ailment. At precisely four every day, he would turn to bronze. Depending on his mood at that moment of transition, however, one should be prepared for a long night of solid loving.

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