Tinselton Live! with Raskin & Mooch (2)

Mooch: Zippers, R! Goes walking the very Lily de Oh!

Raskin: Say what say?

Mooch: Armed with Mike the Tyke! That lard of a bucket.

Raskin: Ach! Swounds she the beater, Mooch. Churns my bitters to see such flowering a-thistled.

Mooch: Wary, R, for Lily’s angels wandering the fro and through.

Raskin: Goodman Fleck, a sole waterlivet and pour friendly, pour friendly.

Mooch: Band-of-brothers that order, Fleckie, tight we are, pole hawks wired-like wing-to-wing.

Fleck: The Tyke’s too much roughage for that company to keep, R. Odious cabbage boar, excrementally so.

Raskin: Sores my eyes seeing thus.

Mooch: Oh, lawdmercy, see indeed thus, comes KeeKee hither.

Raskin: We’ll be ear-ing the broadside’s weltan-news now, Boyos.

KeeKee: Lookee lookee lookee, the two dogs of the lappeterrarium! Pint of the house darkwater, Mr. Fleck.

Mooch: Woof.

KeeKee: What, Mr. R, nary a-howling, and Lily scribbling in public with the Mighty Tyke.

Mooch: Hush, Kee, lest the house also blue plate a tongue fillet.

KeeKee: Well, such sorrowing sad unbuckles a gent says I. But here’s the nugget-in-hand. Ready? Squire Mike is building 40 two-and-ones at the corner of Old Wash and Grand.

KeeKee: Just G-P-S-ing, R, ain’t but a block there shy from jardinairess Lily.

Raskin: That shoal in the walls mounts never a 40. Bleek’s seatery no more than 30 in the main, and the upstairs was but three of the twos with a one down the hall.

KeeKee: Yass, true not true. The elevatory regs circumcised and lottoed the shebang at 40.

Mooch: Pshaw! Alderman Carrio balderdashed any gentry prance-a-frying herethereabouts and so as duly sworn people’s people.

KeeKee: Tyke’s cousin the builder, other cousin city attorney, other cousin housing inspector, other cousin brick maker, other cousin realtor, and other cousin jailed across the river, soon home to roam during the holidays.

Fleck: Hmmm, may dazzle the ol’ gal with polish and spittoons to the craigs, fernery—waltzing we in the greenery, Gents. Waltzing in the greenery.

Mooch: R, how we fast slippery from slab ribs to Wallet Salads.

Raskin: Likely cattails tucked, we’ll go a-mewing, Brother Mooch.