A Post in Purple Prose.

Let the hyperbole begin!

As I minced toward the sliding glass doors, wan hand upon my waner brow, I beheld such a sight!  Could it be?  Hath Winter's Death Grip begun to Loosen from the Throat of poor Spring?  Egads!  The sun was shining so brightly that I didst not see the Boyz, lying as skunky black and white pools upon the dudgy rug.  Yarks!  Tis a wondrous sight, the flying, screeching bodies of the Boyz - snarling teeth and burbling talons ablaze!

As the foamy crest of Feline Furbulence ebbed upon my doorstep, I slid openeth the door - vague and opaque as it was with a Winter's Worth of snurbling nose prints, tongue lashings and the like - to peep upon such a sight!  In Sun's Bright and Lorbling Beams didst the smallish grey piles of sorrowful snow, speckled with the flotsam and junksum of shaken rugs and the poopings of tiny songbirds, seemed to cringe and creep upon my deck!  In their withering wake was left large, smarmy stains of encrusted birdeth seed, swirling amongst even MORE tiny songbird poopings.  Alas!  Will my faithful Amish broom - still tucked snug amongst the long-forgotten implements of cleaning - have the strength to dispatch such mucking???

I leaned, waner and lanquider, upon the hard steel barrel of my air rifle (the only support at handeth), and ever so, ever so, carefully placed one tiny Bog-booted footeth in front of the othereth.

Harketh!

What music is that, that reaches so stridently, yet like tiny bells to my shell-like ears?  Couldst be?  Oh, frabious day!  Tis a Red Winged Blackbird!  Such music didst bring shining tears to my wan orbs...(see?  I've been ill, so everything is wan - makes it so much easier to wax purple...)

Forsooth!

Oh, wafting, gentle breezes which carry such perfumy scents through the air (with more than a generous toucheth of dog poop mixeth in), support this poor, wan frame and lifteth me in your Springy boosum (as my boosum hath lost most of its spring) to allow me to alight my tearful orbs upon my lands!

What is thiseth!?!  Canst I believe my own orbs?  Hath the frozen Earth parted?  Couldeth it be true?  Hath Nature's kinder nature cometh to pass?  Art those turgid rosy points that thrust themselves from the dark loamy dirt truly the forebearers of God Rhubarb????

I falleth in a faint.

The end.

I had to end, as I was laughing so hard it made me cough.  Enjoy!