When tender frond the turlingdromes, and vestas whiffle from their homes, out in the misty magma moonlight, neeping in the afternoon, bright Lesmerelda flaunts her chubbles, great malinky double-bubbles.  What a wald!  I wadnae yield to see her famed delights revealed!  But hush now son, and graze your kneesden.  My poem's done.  OH GOD NOT THE BEES-den?

Listen Now.

What's a year or so between fronds, eh?  I trust you'll enjoy the exciting machinations of:

Future excursions will follow a release schedule dictated by Fibonacci numbering.  Voice your objections to the Esoteric Council of Elbers at [email protected] if it would make you feel any better about it.

Twenty minutes.  No refunds.