Could Josh abolish catfish? Why not banish instead of abolish? The goal had been to quash the onrush of outlandish fools seeking to embellish, and possibly even demolish the status quo. International outcries from the Spanish, Finish, and Danish, had created a backlash of balderdash, not seen since the nightmarish reaction from the Dutch, the Irish, and the French a short 30 years ago.
Josh was 6 foot one, with blackish hair and brownish eyes, with a devilish manner well hidden by his stylish wardrobe. He was 30-ish with a reddish complexion that one might describe as leprechaunish. To complete his morning ablutions he gargled with a greenish mouthwash, before applying the hairbrush to his lush locks. He would admonish critics who said he was babyish, by calling attention to his boyish good looks, and his well-spoken English.
Josh would hush his prudish detractors by ignoring them. He stopped for a lunch nosh composed of succotash, spinach, and radish, and covered with a relish sauce, which would nourish him and replenish his energy. The snobbish, selfish, and clannish opposition party wanted to publish a whitewash article about Josh’s desire to refinish his desk, varnish his bookcase, and refurbish his office. Josh had a hunch about much of the borsch that had been smuggled by the Dutch, who had an itch about the ditch, next to the gulch where he had lunch.
The enemy had a pooch, a real bitch, which would munch on the porch of their headquarters. The master of the pooch stood at the bar, and got beer from the wench, who checked her watch timing the aging of the brew. Two witches, who would vouch for the research (I forgot which witch was which) had an itch for the superrich customers entrenched at the bar.
Cowboys were spreading mulch at the ranch during March. This had to be done before the French were to arrive, bringing the illegal hooch, smuggled without a hitch, and hidden in a hutch. The opposition Dutch would launch a leech attack, before the home stretch ostrich run (yes, it’s an ostrich ranch) would screech to a halt. The racetrack snitch would snatch a swatch of top-notch crosshatch fabrics to backstitch into blankets for the ostriches during the backstretch. The jockeys would attach the batch to the patch just above the feathers.
The minister with the paunch came to preach to those who might poach perch, from the nearby stream. The preach was a staunch scotch imbiber, who would squelch any attempt to reproach him about his pet pooch on the porch. He could outpreach, and outpunch anyone, including Sasquatch. He was a peach of a preacher; his hand outstretched to outreach the wretched, and latch onto the least of the beach bums, to beseech them to return to the church.
He would dispatch the debauched, by using a crutch to crush the cockroaches, before crashing on the couch. A loud belch from that batch on the beach, would unleash an induced retch from a stomach long scorched by scotch. He vowed again to search for that twitch to teach, and that itch to scratch.
I forgot my meds, the tremors are starting again. Mommie!!!!