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A to Z |
Recently I had an idea to write a story book for children to help them learn the alphabet in a fun way. Here's the idea: to make a sentence where the first letter of every word makes the alphabet. So I went ahead and did that, and it was pretty easy. So I decided to make a bunch more, so that I could have a complete alphabet cycle. Making twenty-six of 'em turned out to be much harder, but here are the results. Illustrations coming soon.
A big cretaceous dinosaur exoskeleton fossil grants happily incredulous jeep kicking little madmen nothing over previously quarried remnants, save tabulations underestimating verisimilitude writ xenomorphic yet zippy.
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Before computers developed extremely fast graphics hardware, inventive journeymen kludged linear mathematical notions onto precision quality rendering solutions to understand visualization with X Y Z axes.
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Coming down euphorically from getting high, I just know letting my nasty opium pipe quaffing ritual supersede today's usual, various xeroxing yoyoing zigzagging activities blows.
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Demonic exorcism fools God, holding in Jesus karmic lopsidedness, mentally noting one perplexing question -- rampant Satanism -- 'til underworld vampires wreak xylophone yodeling zither alphorn blaring cacophony.
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Elasticized fetish garter hosiery invokes jaunty knickers like many nice ogling pleasures, quizzically related secrets that undoubtedly would 'xercise your zipper and be cool, darling.
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From giant haggling iguanas, juxtaposed kangaroos, llamas, marmosets, nay, octopi propulsing quagmire ridden seas to underwater wasteland Xanadu yeti zoos, all beings can die eventually.
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Glowing hot in joyous klaxoning let merry noggins overtly pervade quaint rosy spirits, though usually vicarious Xmas Yuletide zombies awaken before Canada day ever finishes.
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Handslap into jukebox - klang! - lousy machine, no other proper quid, return slot taunts uncooperatively, vexing, whereupon Xerxes yells Zoroastrian affirmations because cash doesn't evoke funky gangadank.
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I jot keen lines, my notes open passages quixotically, rote summaries to underscore voluminous weighty 'xistential yearnings, zeroing about big conundrums, deciphering even foolscap gospel homilies.
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Jazz kings' languid mellow noodlings obfuscate percussiveness, quiet resonances sparkle through ululating voicings with xeric yelps, zydeco and bebop confluences dazzle enraptured fans, generating hopeful iconoclasm.
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Kindly ladies make nice oven pies, quarrelsome rangetop savants take umbrage with xyloid yams, zucchini, and beets, crying "doesn't every fine gourd have its jam?"
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Lynxlike minx nixes often phrased questions, relinking slinky thinking under vixen winking … yawning, zaftig and blinking, clinking drinks ensuring further gregarious hijinx … imbroglio jinxed kinks.
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My new, overly polished Q45 raced superbly 'til undercover vicecops went "X"; your Z28, a beatup clunker, drove even faster - gangbuster hellraising in jalopy king luxury.
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No other person quotes rambling socialist tracts unconsciously vetted with X-files yammering - zany alien bovine conspiracy doctrine - except fellow ghost hunting intellectuals joining kooky linguistic movements.
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Obviously, publishing quarterly results since today's unexpected victory would 'xplain yesterday's zooming accusations before cagey, dispassionate, efficient fund guardians hoping investors' jittery kinetic lurches make news.
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Pirouetting quite rapidly, seductively twirling, undulating vivaciously with XXL YKK zippers and buckled clasps decorating every fine gyration, her intense jiggling knockout lusty magick nearly overwhelms.
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Querying recalcitrant support technicians - voided warranty 'xacerbating your zapped amplifier's blown circuits (during electrical failure) - garners helpdesk's irksome jest, knowing laughs, mentioning needlessly onerous policies.
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Rearranging several thoughtful utterances' verbiage with x-actoed, yellowed, zigzagged and brittle cutouts, dovetailing euphemisms freely, gaining humorous insight, Joe Kid Lid made nearly one priceless quip.
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Scientists tracing ultra violet wavelengths - xenon, yttrium, zinc and boron chemically doped emitters - find great holes in jejune kinsmen's laconic methodology, nearly obliterating preceding quantity research.
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Typecasting unassigned variables with xor yields Z axis boundary conditions, delivering errors from global handlers including John's kludgey locus manipulation numeric operators, prompting quick rewrites suddenly.
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Unnerved veterinarians warn: x-ray your zebras and boa constrictors daily, else fearsome giantism hormonal irregularities jeopardize kin lineages, making naught of painstaking quaint research subjects' taxonomies.
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Void, without, "X", yang, zero, ambiguously bipolar cipher deterministic existentialism finds God, having infinite jest, knows luck means nothing, only probabilistic quantum randomness, something that's undefined.
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Writing "xoxo, yours", Zoë, although ballpoint clicked, done, envelope fetched, grants herself instead jocular, knowing leeway, manuscripting neatly one postscript question: "relinking slinky thinking under vixen winking?"
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X-wings & y-wings zoom aggressively, barnstorming chaotically down endless fiery gulches; hearing immaterial Jedi Kenobi, Luke maneuvers, nears, opens payload: quicksilver rebels sabotage the ultimate villainous weapon.
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Your zany alphabet beguiles, conspicuously discombobulated: erstwhile first glyphs halfway in, "J, K, L", meanwhile, near outward periphery; quaintly rearranged sequence terminates unsatisfactorily, verily with "X".
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Zymurgy attracts beer connoisseurs developing elaborate fermentation gizmos, however, inventors' juryrigged kit leaks, making nominal output poor quality; result: stinking, terribly unappealing vat with 'xpired yeast.
Copyright 2001 John Szinger
