Last Night’s Wonder Blunder. By CpSingleton © 2016
Somewhere within each swift, convoluted dream it would appear to spur me on.
Who was I to say no?
Could you, when Ralf Fiennes was reloading his revolver?
Before you even think it, that wasn’t some half-arsed sexual connotation.
We’d been chased through dark corridors, lined with singing spinsters, when an explosive tortoise ushered us into a room that was very similar to a submarine cabin.
It was then that all hell broke loose.
Ralf furiously reloaded and began spitting out candle-flame bullets, whilst screeching something about teutonic seahorses.
Barclay James Harvest were typically very calm through the whole ordeal.
I opened my eyes and immediately missed the place.