Sewer Lid

Slip shot Sam and I were sitting on a slimy sewer lid just chillin' while grillin'
with Wee Willin and The Boys. When out of nowhere a werewolf wearing sportswear
pounced with a bounce ten feet high slamming every ounce of that Furballed rear end
on the rear view mirror of grandma's born-ed and reared purple and blue cow.

Now. . .

Slip Shot had a can of Spam and a t-boned ham in his back pocket. Not wanting the werewolf to get wind of the high end of this fragrance, he dashed a foot to the left to stash the hash before fur ball could crash his plan. Then suddenly, grandma, having grand illusions of grandeur, gradually edged her grandiose purple and blue cow
(who now was minus one spiffy rear view mirror) Next to Saucy the Sow, who just plowed into the chow two seconds before now.

Meanwhile. . .

Wee Willin' was fillin' then swillin' a jug of killin' sours. His hope was to rope the dope with a bar of soap, sliding him down the slope to Caveman Loo's zoo. Who knew a man in Kalamazoo that would brew a stew so fur ball would get a clue and buy some shoes.
If it worked . . . He would walk like a man, be a part of the clan. That was plan until Stan showed up. Grandma's purple and blue cow by now had decided to plow (with help from the sow) into furball's back end to avenge the mirror incident. Now that went south because spent energies of cows and sows lead to massive appetites. Which is why they don't fly kites in bright sunlight because it hurts their eyes. Then they can't spy the guy bringing cow pie for munchies.

Back to Stan. . .

Now Stan was not the sharpest toothpick in the box. He locked the socks in a wood block down by the dock next to Reelin' Ricky's clock in the rear corner of his stockroom. At the time, Reelin' was peeling then feeling potatoes for abnormalities. (At least that's what he claims). He hadn't heard about furball yet but met grandma once for a beer near the rear of the pier that he sits on. (Don't ask for details). Since everyone knows werewolves can't wear shoes with no socks, Stan would have to pick the lock with a mock schlock made of chalk (which is all he had on him) until. . . He saw Reelin's glock. (Personally, I wouldn't be messing with a glock owned by someone who feels up potatoes. . But that's just me.)
Right out of the blue, Caveman Loo appeared with a jar of concocted goo to woo the hairy beast down the slope, in the hopes of avoiding the use of his licorice rope.
(He is fanatical

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