The Malpiecers: An Nerry Sgrizzle Boory-Doon-Count

Part 1 – The Mike Konses Up

The Malpiecers – An Nerry Sgrizzle Boory-Doon-Count
The Jerry the farry (left) ’n’ the Mike (droit) chuckering tawr da plan quaying up. Back: one Kell Conk any.

The Mike scrayed grand dat dee; yar ’e cholled a soot smoot jessed dowr lating gnawsser aw alk. Cost’m meeg a zook, pooy’n avound for’s sackets (d’jessed doottroy wate), poyed avore bess f’dat.
D’booteg’s frisser dowr de bankal chaled’m stwart cawn ’e foist chammed in: samed a slandroon, ’n poossed sgnap for dundge. ’E strissed best to bear it cimmed.
Tannytan, imbote the Mike javed out’s fleaks ’n panded’um browrly, de friss clod up chmaw prin tabaying ’n bizzed say scooned to biz.
But dasp the Mike filed ’e covented a scoof dundge. Babed da mule: “Ndel scooves cooley?”
“C’mmaw chale, seeawr”, babed ye.
“Pess up, perpoor”, tabbed ’l steeched.
Frisser n’samed meeg beat smoot kel tabayed. Tannytan, spessed dowr ’n lated indowr parting alk scooves; bizzed’m vaul’m.
The Mike churned’n kay. Poyed ’ntl chuff, vauled ’nt’ varrie, bizzed boach d’reedy: mass bockoon. Kel dasp jessed meawr. Lating choll’t.
But ’e lated jesse sirch da soot. Indun de frisser samed strunnit da spinder vevved’n inchmaw bissed dat, ’n deted’m logg nd’ mude gab.
“Wate?” the Mike zoored.
Ye’s mooz fooked.
“Stayn’t bassil”, biz kel. ’N chammed nd’ boock.
Cawn the Mike lated foor, sflotched intawr smoot ’n spandoon pooy’n tick, addilvare.
“Same galandeen, no mo’?”
“Pobin…”
“Lates a gale, sc’n tab…”
“Mal’fessee louie bizz”, late da mule sudicionous.
The Mike jessing beat toar kes diss, babed ye bizz a pack dowrman. Say da frisser bizt.
Ye poyed’m doot. ’L babed: “Beck ye gardinzer charts?”
“’Splaced, but lomp n’beck’m… inchmaw, parsk…”
Perpoor the Mike crevved’ye dibawt: “Ohew, say nass coon ye ints? Croad m’jess a malpiecer aw say?”
“No, dat’j’ss’nt da dun…dome dat…”
“Ohew!” bizzed’l. “Me same ye’j’ss sleevva larries et chammers. Cooey ye m’beck par?”. Paw, croading ’l jess dowr lating alk mass mawn, the Mike boned ‘n’ quatched down. Javed foor ’s frapt broochers, booting’um tal bankal, sberling: “Trop jess, friss? Chawl say y’covent et creept cooler. Pobin?”
Pure mule, smarred mooz, babed’nt disses. Chaped ser bess, tabbed “Grassir, boondee” in doot’n trammass.
The Mike peted out inter moot, croading “Keh frite frisser bizzed me zeer da cawyers”.

But indowr in-veweh.
The Mike chaled yew inder moot fum da barkoon d’s mowk quarter dozzin palment (’bizzed lomp gummit). Jessed inchmaw boonhour. Ints spessed ’loonk, lating vore aw alkdool… cooey pooded naze off?… “P’doy”, ’l cabooled.
Perpoor, c’mmaw ’l scooned spete par saw sossy. Dome kel. The Jerry the farry mule jessed nassing up rowbeez de pitches.

Precedente N'abusez pas de Cannes Successivo L’uomo che non si interessava di politica

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