or: OPEN TO CORRECTION
or: OUCH!
or: OBJECTIVE CASE
or: ORTHOGRAPHERS UNIGHT!
or: 'OO NEEDS GRAMMAR ANYWAY - OR SPELLING - OR PUNCTUATION!
or: OH WELL, BACK TO THE WRITING PAD
or: THE ONLY HATSTAND WITH EIGHT TITLES BEGINNING WITH 'O'

Bodie was laying down on his bed. It was a useful talent. He had been laying down all morning; great drifts of it floated about him. Soon he would of enough to stuff a cushion. Hearing a knock the bed creaked as he sat up.

"What did you here?" Bodie asked the bed. "I mean hear," he corrected he, mindful that the bed was in lined to be a bit of a pendant. "A knock? Oh good, I new Rays arrival was eminent. come in Ray," he shouted.

The Cows' heads appeared. "I thought you didn't like anyone else to come in Ray accept you!"

"Thats true," Bodie admitted, "I do lie him very regular."

"With a ruler or a lay detector?"

"Wassay?"

"Never mine." Cowley dispaired have learning his agent's grammar (to suck eggs).

"Will you of a whiskey, Sir?"

Cowley winced. "Not whiskey, I am Scotch, I drink whisky. And I'm not royal, no need to call me Sir, just sir shall do."

Bodie's jaw sug. Sometimes the Old Mans converse was imcomprehensive. Whom was Royle?

"Does this mean yes?"

"No, this mean's this," Cowley declared contemptibly. Surely the differential was appreciative? "Where is my whisky?"

"Whisky?" Bodie checked.

"Aye."

Bodie waited.

And waited.

So did Bodie.

"I what, sir?"

Cowley frowned. "You which?"

"I dont do black magic," Bodie pronounced virtually.

"You dont do them, you eat them."

Bodie gave up. And poured himself a Harvey Cliffhanger.

"Thank you." Cowley took it from And, wondering yet again how he had crept in unnoted. He was all ways doing thus. It was alrong.

Bodie was regrettable he had gotten up today, it did notten seem to of been worth his awhile to raise.

Doyle bounded in, ignoring Cowley. He was all way defective in politeness. He striped off his pants.

Wish I could do that without taking off my trousers' first, Bodie thought enviably.

Cowley's eye's bulged.

So did Doyles short's.

"Going running?" Cowley opined.

"No." Doyle slipped down his shorts and landed in a heap on the floor. He glared up at Bodie whom was supposed to of cleared it up, off, away, down, round, through, between - take your pick.

Cowley covered his I's. The briefs wa's very breif. Hopefully they would do they're job (Doyle's briefs were all ways hopeful. It could of something to do with what they hugged - or hag).

"Gonna lay down like Bodie," Ray elaborated. He did sew.

Cowley surveyed the pile of cushions wistful. "Wish I could lay down."

You lie down the law," Bodie reminded gently.

Gently wa's disinterested - hed all way's been incorruptible.

Cowley was effected by this. Bodie had always bean his favourite a gent.

"Stay four tee?" Bodie probed. "Pleas except."

But Cowley was adverse to the noise Doyle made with his. About to protest he had gone before Bodie could pressurise him - after all, he was neither tyre nor a balloon.

Seeing them alone Bodie reflected on there mutual futurity. It smelt rosy. Or was that the conditioning on Rays luxurious curls. He snuffed.

"Ray; you smell."

"Thanks a bouquet." Ray was distinctively not gruntled.

"Snice," Bodie insured he.

"Snot."

Bodie past a handkerchief. (Puritans may say that should of been 'Bodie went past a handkerchief'. Who nose?)

Doyle lied it aside with every evidence of perversion.

Bodie laid on the carpet, deciding this time to lay an egg instead have down.

He sobbed.

And sobbed.

"Poor And," quoth Doyle, patting he. And cheered up.

Bodie rolled off the carpet and laid on the floor; another egg, double-yoked. "You dont; love me; " he mourned. "Noone loves me."

"Whose Noone?" shreiked Doyle jealou's.

"How should I no whose noone it is!" howled Bodie. He was historical.

Doyle was jussed confussed. Passed caring. He had toput a spurt on to do it. "Dont pass out," he begged. "I couldn't negotiate the agony. Nor could Murphy whom has proved to love you as much as me do (and near as frequent!)."

Bodies reply was opposite and to the point. He laid still. It was Still's lucky night!

"Oh pish and goldurnit," he sulked (for the American market), "I hate off days. I'll be gratified to be back at work."

"You mean day's off," Doyle rectified. "Where's he going?"

Doyle surrendered. He laid beside Bodie - a table with two eggs on it; he was a Professional!!!

"Cowley say's remember your British!"

"Remember your British what?" Doyle shrag. "He didnt say. Might be I of gotten itten alrong a gain." He handed Bodie a Swiss Roll.

Bodie cut it in ten pieces and decimated it by eating one of them.

(Hang about, that last sentense is correct - oh well noone's perfect.)

Doyle dove to the carpet and beat his brest.

Bodie tried to tenderly and with loving-kindness and a deep affection for this drunken drugpopping vicious ratlike over-sexed mean and bloodthirsty curlytop lovingly comfort him.

He fit their Bodies together.

Doyle bitted him.

"Love bite's," Bodie growled. He cursed shock. Doyle drew a patteran of crookedtooth marks across the hareless chest. Not for nothing had he studded Art - it had cost him five guineas a lessen... And Art had screamed at everie stud. And now its undoubtably time to draw a vale across thighs and things.

Goodbi.

OR; Brevis essel aboro Obscurus fio
(lf the Dictionery's got it right)
-Horace 65-8 (BC)

It is when I am struggling with my briefs that I become unintelligible.
-Raymond 35-9 (IQ)