The adventures of Framlingham

It was shortly after twelfty o clock on the fifth day of the summer solstice in Denzerland, Framlingham decided that he would walk with the wild hyana bushes and mikligan tree stubs in the forest of boondocks.

Now, Framlingham was a funny manfriend, with wicker ears and a patchwork smile, his eyes glinted with purple fairy skin. His jellybaby legs bowed under the weight of his colossal headpiece. He had arms, but these were now just stumps, worn down from years of foraging for frogflies and fairylions in the vast undergrowth of selolocidus.

As he skipped his merry way through the thistled burr on his failing legs, he stumbled upon a titillating sight. Framlingham carried his new acquisition on his humped writhing back, and headed towards his matchbox home, under the carpet of bajanbanie. On the way, Framlingham ran into his old friend Jongalet. He didn't want his Jongalet to see what joys he had found and so Framlingham burrowed like a carnivorous butterfly into the mudlakes of boondocks forest.

As Jongalet rolled by, he could have sworn that he heard Framlinghams squelching foot juice and a frantic scrambling for the undergrowth, but Jongalet had better things to do, He was on his way to the procession of wild pygmy smegmice to wash their feather holes. This was Jongalets most favourite time of the year, oh how he loved the smell of those pygmy smegmice. Jongalet didn't stop to look for Framlingham that day; instead he gyrated onwards to the fun ahead.

Once Framlingham was confident that his friend had passed he convulsed his way out of the hovel he had made in the mudlake and rambled on towards home.

Denzerland was a small apple on the tree of the world, and Framlingham arrived home shortly before he had even left. He put on his shoes and took a seat on his tasteful rugrat. He layed the chest that he had found on the floor and began to gently hum and sing to the rubberwood package. Slowly, the chest screeched open, making a new layer of musical notes on the roofing of his shacktile home.

Framlingham gently opened the lemon peel casing and shooed off the incestuous squirrels, which had made a home inside. He couldn't believe what he saw before him, the whole chest was filled with Bermuda triangles, all different sizes and flavours. He whooped with joy at his new kajunga beans and realised that he was suffocating the camera chews that were floating nearby.

Framlingham was rich and he brought all the metal poles he had ever wanted as a child. He was finally complete, and with one last splutter of chocolate fudge cheese, he dropped down dead as a corpse onto the grassy pimple of his lonely life.