just quickly, herr brekst said, before my knickers twist. i shall say a poem.
not a poem, said sponge, not allowed.
a song maybe, herr brekst inquired, a tune, slightly detuned, arty but full of joy, like
rrrrznnn brrrrrlissssss tokkk me luv
tok luv luv me tokkk
no, said sponge, not allowedd, double-d for the weight of the word and the celtic touch.
today, said block of wood, we could do something special inmidst the regularities.
yes, said sponge, we could.
why don’t we, said breadroll.
a discussion followed, which was rather very unspectacular.
when fishburger turns up, the man said, brief him on this and that but don’t be easy on him, he needs to know. the man said that and went away, was gone.
he will not turn up, said breadroll, and if he does, he’ll be stuck into the spreadsheets, not a chance to launch a joke.
if we had a good one, said sponge, it’ll be wasted.