Dorothy clicks her heels when no place like home begins to entice and photogs click the shutter when banausic moments call for spice.

With no citrus for the scurvy and developing dyscrasia due to the rotten wooden leg, it was no surprise that I, the smallest guy, took the brunt of his plight, but it matters no more because I have been banished from shoulder to comforter and, hence, into the softest, warmest space of sunlight. ; )

Bunnies hop—then, are happy, but cos-buns hypothenars preclude them from hopping as effectively as their inspirations, so they strive for egg-cellence in presentation instead. ; )

If you were feeling envious of my plumage before our date, let me tell you that not only is it as fantastically fancy as it seems, but it is even impervious to pluvious weather, so, even jealous clouds cry upon us, you can hold one hand whilst I wave down a taxi with the other.

Chill out, my little wren, regarding the myth bogus; even if it were true and would quell all my quarrelsome quirks, I am not going to sacrifice you for a chelidonius when we can share, together, this serenity’s beachy perks away from all the world’s ravenous jerks.