“Well, flick my Bic! It’s a dik-dik!” flamed the being of buffoonery from the local bloomery.
“What interesting iron*y—,” mused the mini-lope, “that gas and hot air left their clay bed for this dimwit’s head.”
“Perhaps, someday,” hoped gazing Elle, “dumb-dumbs will keep silent regarding that which is overtly clear and I can be left to focus my ire not on a boor away from his ore, but on the all too many, I fear, who still think I’m a deer.” ; )
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