Cinnaspannitarisaurish Flex


The twangling cry of Cinnespannitarisaurish Flex curdles the milky juices of his fellow Utopian castaways as the imposing frame of his Spanish guitar rump rears above the brush, spying out his prey in the evening twilight.

Majestic yet deadly, his sleek tuning pegs twist this way and that in the scented breeze, flanking his noble, glistening cinnamon Danish face. Then, in a sudden flurry of electrical flex, his limbs are a frenzy and the proud neck stoops low to conceal his rapid advance.

In a nearby glade, a Brinleclops scuttles to and fro, flannel raised in a courtship dance. The object of his amorous advances, a large but bashful Oldmilktackmas, oozes with unfamiliar titilation.

Preoccupied as they are with their fledgling romance, neither marks the tell-tale tones that denote the imminent attack... E, F, E, F, E, F, E, F - quickening apace and growing in volume until, all too late, the Brinleclops turns to meet his sticky assailant and, with the crunching twang of an E flat diminished 7th, Cinnaspannitarisaurish Flex splits the rustling brush and is upon them!

Ensnared in a flexy web, Brinleclops emits a plaintive squelch as Cinnaspan's swirly chops uncoil to feast on his runny innards.

Oldmilktackmas, instinctively employing her pin-cushion tacky defence mechanism, can but watch as her erstwhile mate is devoured, clips and all, to the tune of Barry Manilow's 'Copacabana'.

Sated, Cinnaspan moves on - leaving naught but a stinky facecloth to console the traumatised lover. Now he will seek higher ground (underscoring his journey with the Stevie Wonder classic), where he will chart the constellations by moonlight, philosophise and retune himself for his next meal.

Every Utopia has a natural order.

In this one, Cinnaspannitarisaurish Flex is king... for now.




The End

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