31 July 2008

The Very Frasty Stroon

The Stroon wibbled at the fringes as the Gajjer prauned at its flobelites. ‘Don’t do that,’ said the Stroon, sloaming a loose heypraul at the Gajjer’s klopper, ‘It makes me wibble, and I don’t strake it.’

The Gajjer chumbled at the Stroon’s sloaming and jinkled beyond its amflutt. ‘I’m hardly stangly,’ said the Gajjer, ‘as it’s my wandret to praun the flobelites of a Stroon. In fact, I’m inflandessirant for it.’

‘Well I don’t care’, said the Stroon, ‘They are my flobelites and I would be stobelifted if you would keep your prauning sloppars to yourself.’ The Stroon jambered at the Gajjer and the Gajjer huned back a strelp or two. ‘If you can’t, then I shall be knuled to jamber you until your stradlisers are sprilandled; then you’ll be stangly, very stangly indeed.’

The Gajjer wested and flumbered, and drandled longingly at the Stroon’s flobelites. ‘Can’t I just praun one of them? I mean, you’ve got plenty, and surely one won’t be a snedderlism?’

‘Snatter off!’ the Stroon excrobulated, ‘I need them all!’

‘Like you need a slomp in your stobber,’ said the Gajjer. It randled. ‘Go on, just one. You won’t slimper it at all, and I’ll be obnauphesticularly obluterate, and make sure you are festuled at the Snorfting at the end of the flond.’

The Stroon flendered, and its fringes wibbled unconfluturatingly. ‘Hmm. If I let you, do you promise not to pruge beyond the snaffletts?’

‘OK. I’ll go as far as the snafflets, and maybe stiffle them a bit – you might strake that – but I won’t drindle or pruge any further.’

‘Hmm. Well. OK. And can I chiddle your noaf?’

‘I don’t know about that.’

‘Well, it’s only snoorklik.’

The Gajjer randled again. ‘OK,’ it said, ‘Just this once.’ It jinkled back to one of the Stroon’s flobelites and prauned at it until it reached the snafflets, where it drindled and pruged, and pruged and drindled, and then stiffled them for a very long snoppet; and the Stroon caught the Gajjer by the noaf and chiddled it until it blosed.

Just then, the Stroon’s Mosmos arrived. ‘What are you sluping at?’ it stappered, fringes wibbling and snaffletts afloam, ‘and who let that Gajjer in here?’ The Mosmos sloamed at the Gajjer, only just missing its stobber by the merest smiffer of a blat.

The Gajjer chumbled and jinkled, and warfed and jamboled until the Mosmos was prelacticated, then it fluped from the nozzar into the flarkness, never to been seen again.

‘You frasty Stroon,’ said the Mosmos.

‘I’m stangly,’ said the Stroon, ‘Very stangly indeed. But it was desanstrable. I straked it like a lostulate snarftangle.’

‘You very frasty Stroon,’ said the Mosmos, and blunged it to nozboz without any jum-jum.


  1. Hey Des, sounds like you've been at the Dr Seuss again...

  2. No, it's just that my strimblet has been a little snoddled of late.