we don’t like days and are at odds with nights

that they shouldn’t have gone out today and just stay put, sponge complained, nothing would have happened, that he knew full well that nothing is happening now, but that this nothingness was a different kind, emptier, bleaker, than the nothingness they normally faced with, the nothingness so familiar, so comforting, the old, the nothing-new nothingness. not the as-good-as-it-gets nothingness. that, he added, nothing was the absence of anything at all, although, colloquially, the concept was often used to indicate (or describe) the lack of anything relevant or significant, or to describe a particularly unimportant thing or event. or object, subject, as herr brekst would say. it is contrasted with something and everything.
but, sponge said, this might be a poor description.

come to mention it a melody sounds like the other

it is impossible to describe music, yet this is precisely what would be required now, as breadroll whistled, as sponge whistled, both whistled a song. whistling they plodded along, alas, the plodding is not the subject here. let’s focus on the whistling.
can we stop whistling, said breadroll between C-sharp and E.
wait a minute, said sponge. it was a short tune.

like a block in the woods

remember the block, said sponge. no, said breadroll. gone a long time now, said sponge, we should leave too, but where too. we ask ourselves all the time, everybody else would have lost patience. not we, said breadroll. he tried to find the edge of the platform with his eyes. no avail, too vast it was. we’re lost, he said. big time, said sponge, that platform is a forest. would you believe, so vast and void. and insects, said breadoll.

the rain falls like there was no tomorrow

it is raining, said sponge.
it is raining, said breadroll, isn’t it.
bloody rain, said sponge.
it raining the entire day.

so say just for the fun would you like to have sex with me

the next joke will be a fart joke and it will mention the war, children will be harmed and there will be great disaster. we may ask for your help and support. but we will be fine after all. that is a promise. you can take that as a pledge, of sorts. we just need some understanding. some excitement. we need your trust to the point where we need you to actually rely on us.
breadroll never had a thing for cheap beer but rarely found shops that had anything on offer but.

what would we say to make it not look like a

good, said sponge. pfffnn. — don’t you miss those sounds?
i’m fed up with things, too, said breadroll. i could have been you know. —— literary glamour and all. a recognisable figure in the books. ———

action is more like a shop than anything republicans would say or admit for that matter

q: a rather grimm place they’ve come across, the city with corners without any shops at all. let’s see how they cope with it.
a: no, that is not fair questioning at all. we have been plunged into this with no warning whatsoever and ever since tried to cope as best we can.
q: you object fnn this statement rather vigourously — now there’s an ugly looking word — so what is the matter.
if they go left they would find a corner and to the right a street with another corner right after it. not to mention other corners in sight.
i suppose the usual witty comment, said breadroll, to follow; i for one would like to be buttered. he could easily say that for even though buttering him was a considerably nasty affair for all parties involved the lack of butter and shops to buy butter made buttering a faintly imaginable activity. i think i see a shop.
words like this won’t make it far.

like a bull in a chinese shop

i feel dry, said breadroll with a sweet’n’sour smile.(wipe that grin, thought blokk off the record).
yes, all dry and dreary (lacking in liveliness or charm or surprise) but well sorted otherwise.
like puked milk, said blockk and jabbed a knife laden with lard into breadroll, a roar from tape to besound the lot.
we now cover up the orgy of brutality that we were glad to mention.

beat your nose until it looks like a box

this is the day when we are all fed up with each other, said breadroll, and beat each other up and down the road.
this tradition was founded by a geezer called stephen who was a dubious character who loved beers with the word crown in the name: king’s crown, crown castle, crown & down, etc-rown. he also loved other things but he never spoke about it. once or twice perhaps but not often.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.