Are you all sitty comfty-bold two-square on your botty?
Then I'll begin ... Now, of course, like all life-experience story, this also begins once - a - polly - ti - to, and Happiness Stan, whose life evolve i' ephemeral coloured dreamy-most, had his pure existence and this being, a deep joy of the multi-colour of the rainbold. Oh, yes - his home's a Victoriana Charabold, this is a four-wheeled f'lollop f't'f't' around the back- grove.
Now, as eve done its deep approachey, his eye on the Moon, all-time some-time deep joy of a full moon scintillatin'-dangley in the heavenly 'bode, but now only half -
"Oh, blow your cool, man!" he did this de-faucus. "What is the folly of this half-disappearing of the moonly-most?"
And as the light did a scintillating, changed through timely-most, stoppit still, and he did a de-faucus, what? Absolutely smashed and flak-ed he was. So, gathering all behind in the hintermost, he ploddy- ploddy forward into the deep thunder-mould of the complicating Forrie to sortin' it this one out, matey.
"Where at, man, de-faucus, where at man? Oh, dear!"
Now, after little lapse of time, Stan became deep hungry in his tumblode - oh, after all, he struggly trickily half several mile-oh, to never over-sufferoh'ed but this! So suddenly he did de-faucus - out of his lunchey-bag, just about to do a little nibble-ode of his mincey -meatey when .........
Now, the fly was overwhelmed with this deep generosity of Stan's for give - give - give of the foodage 'cause all life love (tlp,tlp) suffle of a foodage, ha, hah ... He look at Stan, and said "Is there anything I can reciprokay, or do in the joy of return for your generossie for give me food and stuffey?"
Stan: "I am looking for the other half of the moon and dangley, this is my folly - show me where the missing half of that moon."
"I don't know" said the fly returly, "but I know someone who know, if only I were big enough to transportey-most! I would take 'ee there myself, I would do this!"
And Stan, having the posessie power of the Magicold, aha! standit over, rollit up the sleevely, waverley hand, hoeverly hoverly hoverly hoverly and utter these magic wordly:
"If all the flies were one fly, what a great enormous fly-f'lolloper that would go!"
Oh! And there, incredible, but - oh, dear, hovery-hovery! Now the fly recall with these wordage:
"Not only will I transportn'in there, but I'll sing a deep joy of a songlode in your eardrobes, that I will do!"
And so, seaty comfty-bold on the back of this enormous buzzy-most of the fly, vvvt! they tookit off, like an escape veloccie of the rocket, floating into orbi'.
Now, after floating high hup, over the mountie, through the deep valley of that, for seven whole long days, they did a very soft and flat-belly landie if I may put it this way. Where they landed? A tranquil beauty spottie before a deep thunder-mould of a Forrie. Like Orpheus in the Undergrowth, there it was, and the fly said it:
"I must leave you here", and he pointed here, with his sort of fly-type fingold it is all feathery-feathery, and said:
"Mad John, mark thee words, he live-it in a cave in this far deep forrie, and he will transport for you and find it, not only the Moon itself if you lookit, but the philosophy of Life t' itself."
And Stan had a mutual joy for this, and reach up and cuddly-most of this big fly - and very hard to embrace it mo' n' kissey - and the fly tickly with his whiskers in his eardrobes, and off he went ...
So Stan walkit towards the cave, and in his mind, mark 'ee word - Mad John! - wh! - de-faucus on this - all a-tremblode, looking into the dark and peering into the back-grove of black in there, and then - appeared - Mad John, in fine, fine foldy silken robes, all whitey hair, scintillating beard n' dangley for the beard must have been thrintny- four years old to grow it n' grow it - all night-lode, what? And he was glowing, with a friendly light, oh, dear, joy, and a voice full of the cockney, cockney, cockney, all joy of life and live-it emanate from the cocklode of his heart-strings.
"Cool to see you, man - aha - What be your hang-up, man - ha!- Not still worried about this scintillating moon and dangley, eh? eh?"
Stan: "Y - y - yes, ah, that's why I sorting you out here, trickily trickily how on the back of this fly and who told me -huh -"
And John linkit arms with him, and walking out, stepper by stepper, and he pointed a cockney fore-fingold.
"There. Up in the heaveny 'bode."
What?
Stan realised, now, which it struck him, like a smackeroo-bleurdy which a-coming out f't'er n' he never thought of this before: as the Sun rises in the early morney, so the recoil of the moon in the eve - ah - and he thought.
Now, the fly had something extra-special to say to me f' you-old, and John lookit happily, and attracting his earnestly of his eye-bold, straight nose - to - nose and eye - to - eye fold for it:
"Of course, I nearly forgot it. Just you listen ..."
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So remember these very special words: Happy day lay toyley town newspaper read it and chuckley smile-ode. They all have a lovely turn: Gnome's Cave, Huckleberry fickle tickle my fingold, Little Boy Blue lettin' his horn stuff'n it in his melodrobe and freaking 'em all out - oh, what a mind-blast! Jacky Jill, Knees-up Mother Brodie, oh, what a trickly joy of a hove there. I hope your turn up is three-quarters half as lovely wouldn't you laugh and enjoy it! Statty Cool, won't you?.