Gabe Gudding


now i am on the trail of the lone booby, that is who I am the hunter of the booby. Sometimes it flies sometimes it goes along on booby legs spouting steam from its nipple. in it a engine of mother cloth is burning to make the steam pressure burble. long time i have sought the lone booby through distant graveyard, and seen it once or twice flopping off a headstone. But I a duck and:ducks cannot grasp what it wants with its feet-hands, its hand is its mouth -- and so am i with the booby: i have slammed down my head to grab the flopping booby upon a gravestone and sucked not the booby



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