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My cannon? Loose. My boat? Rocked. (Because of the loose cannon.)
My worm, eaten.
my mom’s face, stepped on.
My rocks, thrown.
Temba, his arms wide.
Lemmy, the comments posted.
I’m having way too much fun with this
That bridge? Reached & crossed.
And under that bridge? Water.
And out of that water? A fish.
And into a frying pan I presume
Briefly, before going into the fire.
is that a normal cooking fire or did the river catch fire again
You didn’t have the courage to write “came to.” 🌉 🥵
I misread the instructions and burned mine. I was soo close to getting the full list right.
Eh, water under the place-where-the-bridge-used-to-be.
Reached, crossed, and burned down.
Your goose being cooked is a bad thing though?
hey everyone look at salmonella tom here likes his goose raw
I like my geese free and thriving
they will be free to thrive in my belly.
My monkeys? Brassed.
Funky.
town
Your cold Medina? Funkied.
My monkey? Spanked.
barreled?
My bulls? On parade
Your jimmies? Rustled.
My monkeys? in a barrel.
With the fish that you shot?
Well look at Mr Many Baskets. I keep mine all in one, much more efficient and nothing can possibly go wrong. Surely.
My slugs? Salted.
*salty
your milk?
Uncried over?
Lapped up
oh the cat’s gotten into it again
My shit? Worked out.
How you gonna write all that and forget about horses
My coffin? Nailed.
Lucky birds
Hotel? Trivago.
