A Spooneristic Tale

In the garden, one man was kicking parrots and peeping up swine nuts. Another was having a fig with a dork, stubbing up the grumps, setting the new weeds, and then making the soil revel with a lake. I noticed some gritty pearls rolling around in a string, and asked one of them where the hair would be felled. She knocked the foil off her seat and said "Fonder in the yield".

"I'm hungry", I said. "Let's leap into the house and have some crunch."

"Good", she said. "I love these pie-spirited hearties. There will be a hawk by the toast, about the groovy mates such as Custer Beaten, Crone Jawford and Way Messed. Then we can go to the games room..."

"I like ten-bin polling", I said, "but I always snooze at lucre".

"Or we can dance", she suggested. "Do you prefer sweet music or Bing? Stiff Richard or the Clones?"

"I'd prefer to go outside to the fanned grate", I replied.

"OK", she said. "They have a gun fame. If we can guess the weight of the rake, we can get kitsch."