An Alliterative Allegory
Beyond brimming backwoods, beyond the birches of Berkly and the beaches of Bermuda bode Bob, the bubbly but befitting beginner of being. Canning his commonplace crowing and coming to common sense, he cannily contained his created creatures' collective conviction. During the days of his dominance, drudges dared not deceive their dark dictator.
Enough was enough, so Ernest (our exemplar) earnestly embarked upon an expedition and had an epiphany. Fighting fears from the facility of his fireside was faulty in its fulfillment. Good goals groped the great gladiator's greedy gray matter. (Good God!)
Headed for hell, he heeded no hints or heads up-- heralding the heartbreaking havoc. Inside his intestines an insurrection of incompetence initiated, irritating our idol. Just for a jovial jaunt, justice jolted his just-devoured jelly.
Kin of the king cackled as they killed the kid. Laughing and lauding each other, they left liquid of lovable life within lick of the leader's lazy leg. Minutes must have mulled on as my main character managed a meager turn and a mighty munch. No nonsense could negotiate the neon nip from his net.
Only his opposition outlasted other occurrences. Problematic as his particular predicament perhaps appeared, our protagonist persevered. Questionable quotes qualified the quantities of quagmires in his head, quavering his body quickly.
Resolved to revolutionize the rotating rotunda that is roundabout reality, the rebel rushed to his rival's reinforced retreat. Seriously, our star set off to silence the supreme sovereignty.
Tales of the terrible task turn out tarnished in this threshold. Understand he underwent unrelenting unruly undertakings. Very vivaciously he ventured fourth out of the verdant veldt towards visionary victory. When the warrior was worthy, he went to the whereabouts where he wasn't welcome.
Xanadu was plated with xeric, xanthine xanthic, and full of xenophobic Xhosas peddling xyloid xylophones.* Yet, our yellow-bellied yea-sayer yearned for yesterday. Zipping to the ziggurat of Zeus, the zealot was zapped by zillions of zinc zeppelins!
And the maddening moral of our silly story is when Bob bestows life, little mad men have no serious scenario in which they can capture their fleeting freedom, save the solitude of definitive death.
* That was fracking hard.
