JD, a regular commenter on the blog, decided that it was time to review the lengthy list of words that she has collected on our blog for the past 2 years.
Below are her alphabet stories.
Letter A:
Last adar, while resting in an alcove next to the Aar, absorbing an alcopop(which tasted a bit like alegar) and smelling the abscisic odor of alar, I was pondering the ara and all the astra in the abysmal abyss. Having just consulted an agha about accruing an amah, I was disheartened as his agio was unaffordable. My alveoli was twitching assai allegro so I donned my antipodal anorak and set off to consult an abbe who could be located in the apse of an antiquated abbey. Apparently my apparel was appalling but it was axenic. The abba arrived with an awesome aureole (not an areole) surrounding his shaft(aril-less!). I knew I was in Asgard, the playground of anis and asses.Oh where did I park my Azera?
Letter B:
Beneath the Ebon Sea there lived a bawdy brace of belugas. These behemoth br'ers, Beowulf and BOZ (pen names), were known to cause bedlam in the brine, both bestial beasts. A hundred brogan-steps away lived a bimanous seahorse, quite similar to a blaubok. "BOHICA" loved jewelry, but most of all , bhang. One night, bedaubed in a brilliant briolette, a bridle and some very brief breeches, she went on a binge. The next day the boastful bards were convicted of buggery and fined a bazillion bahts.
Letter C:
Beside a cairn stands a circular cote inhabited, not by chickens, but a cracker-jack Cossack who is in cahoots with his cowardly cousins, the town cadgers. His 'ome encircled with beaucoup catalpas, cajaputs and calabash trees enables him to concoct cochineal from carmine critters. He dyes caddes which he peddles to the Caliph. His comrades creed a cabal to culle the country's controller and tried to coax Chukka to comply with their coup, which was to slit his carotid with a couteau. He wouldn't and they didn't. He was no cully! As it happened a carcajou consumed those chums.
Letter D:
Discouraged and feeling drossy, Dre dangled a dobber into the Daa, deftly dapping for dace, while dining on dates and dasheen. A dray of ditsy donkeys dandered down the dene. Like asses, the deck of dummies endeavored to encircle the dude. Deeming that the drink was wadi wady, the dolts decanted and drowned. If an ass falls into the depths and no one hears him, did it really happen? I think not.
Letter E:
E- not an Edda, nor an epic.
Eons ago in Eire an elfin eft hatched in the eau of the Erne. Guided by the etoile, Erte edged up the torso of an ent, eating earwigs and escargot for energy. "RT" spent most evenings becoming educated by this extraordinary tree. Curiously he eyed the egregious elands, the errant emus, the egotistical ewes and several ensembles of eaglets, all from his ethereal estate.
One morning he heard an escry emanating from an eddy in the estuary."Eureka! Could this hub bub be the eloi?"Enwrapped in an egret's gett was an elegant emerald eft(ess) who was eager to escape. Ne'er had RT e'er felt this efflux of emotion in his entire eleven years. Quickly he ejected a wee epee into the unfed fowl.And yes, this has a fairy tale ending: Erte and Enis eloped to Edo taking only his ecus encased in his etui.
Letter F:
A Cinder-fellah Story
Frodo came from a long line of FakFak fellmongers. As a wee tyke he was trained to flog fertilizer and fetch faggots from the dabby fen. Later he flunked out of F.G.U. (Farmer Geek Univ.) and was a failure to his family.
He fancied himself as a famous cuisinier who would some day prepare fantastic feasts at the "Fabulous Fief" where he could harken to Feursnot. His life of farina, farkleberries and flatulence was over. He decided to fry up some flying frogs, faux ferrets and fresh eggfruit fritters for the yearly foy. Donning a feathered fallow fedora and a flaming lambskin frock, he began to create dish after dish.
Fate was on his side. Folks fell for Frodo's fixin's; Figgy Fondue became the town favorite. I did not fabricate this tale. His future looks fine.
Finis.
Below are her alphabet stories.
Letter A:
Last adar, while resting in an alcove next to the Aar, absorbing an alcopop(which tasted a bit like alegar) and smelling the abscisic odor of alar, I was pondering the ara and all the astra in the abysmal abyss. Having just consulted an agha about accruing an amah, I was disheartened as his agio was unaffordable. My alveoli was twitching assai allegro so I donned my antipodal anorak and set off to consult an abbe who could be located in the apse of an antiquated abbey. Apparently my apparel was appalling but it was axenic. The abba arrived with an awesome aureole (not an areole) surrounding his shaft(aril-less!). I knew I was in Asgard, the playground of anis and asses.Oh where did I park my Azera?
Letter B:
Beneath the Ebon Sea there lived a bawdy brace of belugas. These behemoth br'ers, Beowulf and BOZ (pen names), were known to cause bedlam in the brine, both bestial beasts. A hundred brogan-steps away lived a bimanous seahorse, quite similar to a blaubok. "BOHICA" loved jewelry, but most of all , bhang. One night, bedaubed in a brilliant briolette, a bridle and some very brief breeches, she went on a binge. The next day the boastful bards were convicted of buggery and fined a bazillion bahts.
Letter C:
Beside a cairn stands a circular cote inhabited, not by chickens, but a cracker-jack Cossack who is in cahoots with his cowardly cousins, the town cadgers. His 'ome encircled with beaucoup catalpas, cajaputs and calabash trees enables him to concoct cochineal from carmine critters. He dyes caddes which he peddles to the Caliph. His comrades creed a cabal to culle the country's controller and tried to coax Chukka to comply with their coup, which was to slit his carotid with a couteau. He wouldn't and they didn't. He was no cully! As it happened a carcajou consumed those chums.
Letter D:
Discouraged and feeling drossy, Dre dangled a dobber into the Daa, deftly dapping for dace, while dining on dates and dasheen. A dray of ditsy donkeys dandered down the dene. Like asses, the deck of dummies endeavored to encircle the dude. Deeming that the drink was wadi wady, the dolts decanted and drowned. If an ass falls into the depths and no one hears him, did it really happen? I think not.
Letter E:
E- not an Edda, nor an epic.
Eons ago in Eire an elfin eft hatched in the eau of the Erne. Guided by the etoile, Erte edged up the torso of an ent, eating earwigs and escargot for energy. "RT" spent most evenings becoming educated by this extraordinary tree. Curiously he eyed the egregious elands, the errant emus, the egotistical ewes and several ensembles of eaglets, all from his ethereal estate.
One morning he heard an escry emanating from an eddy in the estuary."Eureka! Could this hub bub be the eloi?"Enwrapped in an egret's gett was an elegant emerald eft(ess) who was eager to escape. Ne'er had RT e'er felt this efflux of emotion in his entire eleven years. Quickly he ejected a wee epee into the unfed fowl.And yes, this has a fairy tale ending: Erte and Enis eloped to Edo taking only his ecus encased in his etui.
Letter F:
A Cinder-fellah Story
Frodo came from a long line of FakFak fellmongers. As a wee tyke he was trained to flog fertilizer and fetch faggots from the dabby fen. Later he flunked out of F.G.U. (Farmer Geek Univ.) and was a failure to his family.
He fancied himself as a famous cuisinier who would some day prepare fantastic feasts at the "Fabulous Fief" where he could harken to Feursnot. His life of farina, farkleberries and flatulence was over. He decided to fry up some flying frogs, faux ferrets and fresh eggfruit fritters for the yearly foy. Donning a feathered fallow fedora and a flaming lambskin frock, he began to create dish after dish.
Fate was on his side. Folks fell for Frodo's fixin's; Figgy Fondue became the town favorite. I did not fabricate this tale. His future looks fine.
Finis.
