words words words

What the blazes does it all mean or is it just utter scutter from the gutter or is it all a mumble jumble of words , words, words.  Don’t you just love them though?   Raucous, boisterous banter and babbling in a bubble of ubiquitous, baffling beauty.

It’s all a load of boloney, these words, I mean.  Crispy crunchy cracked peppery parcels of mulled millet and minced meat, mouth watering and wilting around the fragile fringes of wafer thin tinsel and tongue tied, titilating, tantatlising toffee,  waiting wantonly wondering where and why and when and how in heaven’s name, at the closed gate of  our good and great God, wondering and marvelling at the madness of it all.

Would someone tie her up  and shut her up?  What is she on about?  What the blazes is she babbling on about?  What a load of codology.  Useless, meaningless and pointless words, words, words.

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