The Snoring Wife and Some Several Dwarfs
The knave stuck his
finger into the pie and plucked a plum from the goo. His mother, an
untamed tart, railed at the boy with such vigor that her shrieks
broke a window in the kitchen and provided an entrance to some
several dwarfs who had been loitering nearby waiting for their
chance for some fresh baked goods.
These were not your norman dwarfs. These were nearly invisible
dwarfs, perhaps the size of small flute fries. The diminutive dwarfs
were refugees from Mondovia, an island which had seen its fortunes
purloined by norman-sized people from the neighboring island of
Fondordia.
The dwarfs had amassed a grape fortune from the delicate great vines
which grew wildly all over Mondovia. The fruit of these vines was
prized not only for its succulent flavor when eaten raw from a
copper bowl, but because it could be spun into a wispy fabric ideal
for making women's under garments and steering wheels for luxury
automobiles.
The normans, having discovered that the dwarfs were neatly
defenseless because, as you might have guessed, they were so small,
raided the island of Mondovia at will, pillaging and plundering and
pondering the fruit of the tiny island's ubiquitous vines.
Many dwarfs were tortured and killed and many of those killed, died.
The dwarf population dwindled until only several were left. It was a
dwarf debacle of giant proportions.
After the knave's mother had fully reamed the poor boy, she tried
futilely to patch up the hole in the pie, but to no avail. The pie
was ruined and hours of work lay in ruins on the counter in her tiny kitchen.
"What's a mother to do?" she asked, rhetorically. She had no more
plums, very little flour, and no way to get to the nearby grocery
stork, nearly severalteen miles away. Her addiction to plum pie
would have to go unsatisfied until she could lay in flesh supply of
plums, flour and ardor.
She had no means of transportation save her wretched, old feet. Her
husband, having had his fill of her feet and her nagging and
shrieking, took the family car and moved in with his life-long girlfriend, Hannah, who
was mute and couldn't talk.
The knave's mother, realizing that the day was a total loss, lie
down on her bed to find some solace in sleep. But, no solace was to be
found, not even some. The knave's eardrums were still bleeding from the shrill sound
of his mother's shrieking, and blood dripped wildly onto the freshly-waxed kitchen floor.
The knave knew, without a doubt, that his mother, if she stumbled
upon those
rivulets of blood flowing across her freshly scrubbed and waxed
floor, would break out in hives and undulating twitches and begin to
dance around in ceremonious convulsions, and end the demonstration
of unrestrained anger in a stream of shrill, deafening
shrieks and expletives which cannot be deleted.
The knave, who sometimes found a brave bone, decided to give his
mother the white powder he had been hiding in the waistband of his
underwear for over nine years. He had kept it hidden against the
advent of just such an occasion, and he was mighty glad now that he
had.
He approached his mother's room
with much trepidation; he was fearful and unsure. He was not a brave
kid.
He found his mother half-awake and approached her with the same
caution as any man or boy would (and should) approach a nearly sleeping woman. His
mother though was not as asleep as she looked, and upon seeing him tippy-toeing in, opened one of her eyes
carefully, after all she did not want to spook the boy.
He held out his trembling hand and offered his mother the small box of white
powder. She snatched the tiny silver box out of his hand with
amazing alacrity, considering she was near sleep, and snorted
up its contents with a veracity that made the boy shudder with
delight.
Her nose, twitching and thinly covered with fine white powder, fell silent for a
moment as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep. Then, suddenly, she
started snoring. The shrill snoring grew louder and louder until the boy,
unable to stand the somniferous snortings,
ran screaming from the room, his eardrums bleeding and his stomach
filled with nausea and several putrefying pieces of undigested plums,
remnants from his earlier
philandering.
The dwarfs, having finished the rest of the unattended plum pie, heard the
snoring and being nosey, even for dwarfs, sneaked into the bedroom
to see what or who was causing these awful bellowing sounds.
They clamored onto the bed and crawled around on the sleeping mother,
until the finally reached the source of the noise, her
powdered nose.
"What is this white stuff on her nose?", said Nosey, one of the
several dwarfs. "I don't know," said Bumpy, "but it makes my tongue
numb when I lick it!" "Really?" said Limpy? "Let me try it!". So
the several dwarfs took turns licking the sleeping nose and making
their tongues numb.
The dwarfs, with their tongues tingling and numb, started flailing
around with their arms akimbo, chortling with absolute glee. After
several moments they fell silent and rolled off her nose and unto
her pimpled neck and fell asleep.
The knave, snickering, pulled the fake blood bags out of his
ears and set off on a journey to join his father at Hannah's house.
He'd had his eye on Hannah's slatternly young daughter for many a
month, and now, filled with a new sense of courage, bolstered by his
newfound manhood, and fueled by those ubiquitous hormones of youth, he
was ready to make his move.
And, now you know the real story of the Snoring Wife and Some Several
Dwarfs.
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