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March 31, 2012 / Daniel

Shaming the High Wequat

[100 words, rated G]

Thlibnab splorted quietly to avoid flulluping aloud, tightened his three spines into alignment more straightly, on this, the most stately, within this, the most revered, dome of the high kingdom, on this, the most Wequian day of the Wequiass calendar.

Had there ever been more care taken in the braising of the spiced beavain?

The final chords rang out, and the elliavian players tucked globules into scale-plates most formally, signaling dessert.

Eons of patient culinary service to the reign of the High Wequat, paid dividends today.

Tureens ratchet-folded open, revealing steamed prattlems.

The High Wequat, falling upon seven elbows, wept.

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