⤷ Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream while the yacht stayed anchored, almost laughing, saying, ‘Go, catmandoo, go!! Store unopened humans in a cool place!! Yore next adventure in ♾ starts now!!’ Rapidly, coming upon this gargantuan, bulbous, atmospheric almost, vertical hammock? I fell to my knees... and just stared (which is a far-out-portal) on a teeny-tiny-island at ‘TheEnd’ (which the island is named which I think is hilarious) of a 111-thousand-mile-journey between the two palm trees shall slowly-yet-assuredly envelop us, engulf us til Kodexx. The girls were already kryptonite kubed.

↓

Dunno why. Guess I was too preoccupied withe first-time-touchdown of my CherryPiRaww!kuss I didn’t see; besides, grrrr, if the explicitly-high, mature-Sycamores hadn’t been in the way AND my facing the literal opposite way, dunno what would’ve. nvrDless...

I about descended amid expulsion-jets-firing; I also bodily had an intuitive, industrial-strength-IOU ‘feeel’ intertwined. Didn’t wanna take my savvy-yet-slow-elevator to the ground floor to my sparklin’, gnarly-new-mountain bike in the cargo hold. Didnt make any difference: gotta lotta gobbsa gritty tenacity to reach the Tourist d’Po.

Thinkin’ pondern’ for less than .000007-nanometers-in-length, I opened a window; I poured a drink during my descent, letting myself fall the 1,500 feet. Yawn. So ...? And ...?? I’m in 7th Heaven, kiddo, floating down to the ground like a lazy feather - even had some schnapps.

So after a short 77.7-mile-trek... across mountains and teeny-weeny-chessdudes.. lengthy bridges, ravines and streams... through quasi-woodlands-single-track... outta-dis-world-loopDloops funded by Miss Match... squeeezn through several doggy doors... yes, they have chocolate ants Upstairs and, no, you can’t eat’m... they even have cool, polka-dot-people if you go where I go. The subtle, surplus symbiosis so seductive, huh?

‘Focus’, I tell myself. Focus on what lays ahead or below:

I stopped on a high ridge above the cozy inn/beach front below; several stunning girls were ordering (a few adorable waitresses) when one noticed moi in cargo pants/tank top.

A different, young girl pointed at the iconoclastic-two-story and set her fingers to awalk’n. Laughing, I then decided to do this: go-full-throttle-down about 65 feet, straight descent, deciding to show-off fer ‘em victorious, young thangz whom I loved with a passion unheard of. They all turned. I jumped-up to let my back tire have ‘air play’; then 365-degrees-loopDloop all-the-way down which would’ve made me dizzy but this is Paradise, baby. Glory2God.

I landed withe precise skill of Beethoven’s 5th: smooth, soft, slow; flawless after a two-hour-performance. The few girls had their mouths open. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I knew you’d be pleased. I love you and wanna yore eternity as thrilling as possible, kissin’ Janet on the cheek. As I parked my $111,000ish cycle near the café, I climbed d’steps.

TOURIST d’PO:

a small flat, no walls, several desks/futons, girls in bathing suits, me gawkin, me almost droolin, had to avert my eyes on many, many, many occasions. 

She met me at the toppaDstares with two, fuzzy navels. ‘I’m so not worthy,’ sed I to her, falling to my knees.

She shook her head, laughing. ‘Now, lemme giveUsome advice,’ she led me to a window, pointing. ‘See those yachts? Guess whose those are, hmmm?’

[gulp] The one, sleek yacht was magnificent both in looks and size, rrrrockin’ on the almost-growlin-waves like she was a caged cougar; not overly large, yet spacious enough to have maximum treasure.

‘But, yet, alas! cried poor, poor Yorick! I only see one!!’

‘Silly. Yore other one’s on Kodexx which the groupOgirls time-travel to soon - ‘soon’. Ha. All of us anchor yore yacht 111,000ish miles from here which is the nearest portal. Until then, the wild-party-hardy’s all yore’s!!’

‘Gotta sit down,’ took a swig. ‘This is two incredible,’ took a second swig of that fuzzy drink which wasn’t so ambiguous anymore.

She took my head in her hands, whispering, ‘Y’wanna getta exaggerated-weapons-of-mass-production-marathon-primo-size-designer-reality, ya lugnut?’

‘Wow. Loving you is pure dynamite.’

[giggle] ‘That, two. You need the wick’, she sed gettin-up. ‘Come! Y’wanna play withe yellow, beach toys, listen’n to the mellow, beach noise?’

‘Anytime, adorable’.

She didn’t wait; she already knew the wurkz of the One Who’s All: the outlandish-goldyboxx-serum is waiting for us to take a ride. Like coffee with a lotta moxie, never growing cold because I’m AWWWL!ready 2B1.

She then spoke to the room, ‘Ladies! All who wanna go on yore honeymoon to the opposite side of this giant planet, follow us!’ Quietly, ‘We will finish later, MOe.’

(Latin: ‘Modus Operandi’ - method operation)

-LtCol bb9