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Life In The Slaw Lane -- Kip Adotta --------------------- It was Cucumber the 1st. Summer was over. I had just spinached a long day, and I was busheled. I'm the kind of guy that works hard for his celery, and I dont mind telling you I was feeling a bit wilted. But I didn't carrot all, 'cause otherwise, things were vine. I try never to dis-paragus, and I don't sweat the truffles. I'm outstanding in my field, and I know that something good will turnip eventually. A bunch of things were going grape, and soon I'd be top bananna. At least, that's my peeling. But that's enough corn. Lend me your ear, and lettuce continue. After dressing, I stopped over to the grain station. I got there just in lime to catch the nine e-lemon as it plowed toward the core of Appleton, a lentle more than a melon-and-a-half yeast of Cloveland. Life In The Slaw Lane, They say plants can't feel no pain, Life In The Slaw Lane, I've got news for you, They're just a frail as you... No one got off at Zuchinni, so we continued on a rutabaga. Passing my usual stop, I got off-acado. I hailed a passing yellow cabbage and told the driver to cart me off to Brocklin. I was going to meet by brother across from the eggplant, where he got a job at the Saffron station pumpkin gas. As soon as I saw his face, I knew he was in a yam. He told me his wife had been rasin cane. Her name was peaches, a soiled, but radishing beauty with huge gourds. My brother had always been a chestnut. But I could never figure out why she picked him. He was skinny little stringbean who had always suffered from cerebral parsely. It was in our roots. Sure, we had tried to weed it out, but the problem still romained. He was used to having a tough road a hoe, but it irragated me to see Arti choke. And it bothered my brother to see his marriage go to seed. Like most mapled couples, they had a lot of growing to do. Sure, they'd sewn thier wild oats, but just barley, if you peas. Finally, Peaches had given him an ultimatoe. She said, "I'm hip to your chive, and if you don't stop smokin' that herb, I'm gonna leaf you, for Basil, ya fruit!" He said he didn't realize it had cumquat so far. Onion other hand, even though Peaches could be the pits, I knew she'd never call the fuzz. So I said, "Hay... we're not farm from the Mushroom. Let's walk over." He said, "That's a very rice place. That's the same little bar where alfalfa my wife." When we got there, I pulled up a cherry and tried to produce small talk. I told him I hadn't seen Olive, not since I shelled off for a trip to Macadamia, when I told her, "We can't alope." The time just wasn't ripe. She knew what I mint. When we left the Mushroom, we were pretty well juiced. I told Arti to say hello to the boysenberry, and that I'd orange to see him another time. Well, it all came out in the morning peppers. Arti caught Peaches that night with Basil, and Arti beet Basil bad, leaving him with two beautiful acres. Peaches? She was found in the garden. She'd been... pruned. Well, my little story is okra now. Maybe it's small potatoes. Me? Idaho. My name? Wheat. My friends call me Kernel. And that's Life In The Slaw Lane. Thank you, so mulch. It's a garden out there...
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