(xx) Caribbean Dream Flute

Well sir, Mr. and Mrs. Victor go crescettles snugly for a quiet evening at home as we join them in the living room of the small house halfway up at the next block now. The master of the menage however has just been compelled to put aside his newspaper and abandon his comfortable chair in order to answer the telephone's alarm.

And he observes in complaining tones. I'm the poor nuke that's always got to answer this lame brain thing. Oh my goodness, you're here the man. Probably Ruthie won the chair. No, it ain't Ruthie. No. No. Huh?

Why am I here? Who is this? Why am I here watching the fat men play handball? Oh, no, Bluetooth. Have many ideas. Say, word, russish, say. He's at the YMCA watching the fat men play handball.

YMCA watching the fat men play handball, Bluetooth. Yeah. Uh...uh...uh...uh... Why? You're getting to be an old Mr. Cranky. I guess so. Well, I'm older than I used to be. Ha ha! Swiped my newspaper, huh?

An item here caught my eye. How poor walking life can be. I answer the telephone and chin with numbscalls who want somebody else and while engaging this wretched business, my wife appropriates my news. I saw him there was something familiar about the way this article started out.

Hasn't that woman gone home yet? By that woman I expect you allude to... What's its name from the Bahama Island? All right, golly, she's still here. She's still Miss Boopity-Woopity's house guest. What on earth can the matter with the newspaper?

Can't imagine what's its name being in the city and then I print an article about her every night. Why do you vexed upset in the noise? Why is George William-I'm so confused? Oh, my gosh, vexed upset in the noise.