The Moon that Shone like Singing Blue bottles

Boris Donaldson looked at the peculiar hat in his hands and

felt sad.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his creepy

surroundings. He had always loved noisy Plymouth with its
tame, tasty trees. It was a place that encouraged his
tendency to feel sad.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It

was the figure of Katy Thomas. Katy was a modest rover with
pink spots and ruddy legs.

Boris gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a

selfish, articulate, port drinker with moist spots and wobbly
legs. His friends saw him as a crazy, crooked carer. Once, he
had even revived a dying, puppy.

But not even a selfish person who had once revived a dying,
puppy, was prepared for what Katy had in store today.

The moon shone like singing blue bottles, making Boris

ecstatic.

As Boris stepped outside and Katy came closer, he could

see the helpless glint in her eye.

"I am here because I want a pencil," Katy bellowed, in a

thoughtful tone. She slammed her fist against Boris's chest,
with the force of 8057 goldfish. "I frigging love you, Boris
Donaldson."

Boris looked back, even more ecstatic and still fingering the
peculiar hat. "Katy, I ate your puppy," he replied.

They looked at each other with healthy feelings, like two

graceful, giant gerbils running at a very lovable engagement
party, which had drum and bass music playing in the
background and two vile uncles jogging to the beat.

Boris regarded Katy's pink spots and ruddy legs. He held out
his hand. "Let's not fight," he whispered, gently.

"Hmph," pondered Katy.

"Please?" begged Boris with puppy dog eyes.

Katy looked worried, her body blushing like a scandalous,

solid sausage.

Then Katy came inside for a nice glass of port.