One day many a planting season ago, the emerald Ribbon Earth shook violently and shivered, when the great lemon orb of sugar sun syrup was struck by a hard-boiled atomic fireball, and lavishly dribbled down into the Milky Way, causing the marmalade sky above Lollipop Lowland to rain down Mrs. Butterworth's heavenly drizzle. The slow moving river, Bon Bon, then commenced to increase in its flowing stream, since now it had more volume. The confection bunnies, the cupcake groundhogs, the gummy bears, the Licorice Heckets, and elderflower squirrels, all scampered about wildly throughout the forest valley of Lollipop, since an inexplicable near excitement saturated the luscious wisteria-soaked spring air.
High upon a butterscotch ledge overlooking Lollipop Lowland, stands a pleasant but quaint gingerbread cabin. This cabin is owned by a rather inflexible knick knack man named GI Joe. Now GI Joe had spent years serving in the army of King Jawbreaker. He performed well in his duties by causing the dear king's enemies to shed rivers of cherry sweet and sour sauce, and assisting to incorporate many defeated Snicker kingdoms into King Jawbreaker's delicious Smores realm. It was said where he earned many a Hundred Thousand Dollar Bar for his extraordinary deeds.
GI Joe was delightfully intelligent, and invested his entire career Payday Candy Bar collection into choice- gameboard real estate, building holly houses and renting them out to different, but enticingly interesting characters. One of these characters is none other than Mr. Goodbar himself.
Mr. Goodbar in turn, since GI Joe lives outside of Lollipop Lowland, way up in Rhododendron Retreat, decides he would rent his home out at a glittering profit margin to the nectarous Venus of Urbino, who transforms it into a lolly house for the new madam guardians, Barbie Handler Schoop and Miss Betty Boop; who dutifully employs the Cinderella girls, while these sweaty spaghetti string girls silently pray to be rescued by none other than beautiful Glendita de Luna Gasstar, their good guardian fairy Godmother.
After Mr. Goodbar accumulated vast savings in couverture gold and thousand dollar wafer paper bills from his enterprise, he wisely decides it is time to do something different from his usual occupation of raking in wheatgrass, hunting cocoa-covered Cadbury Cream eggs and confectionary bunnies to fit inside Red Riding Hood's line of hand woven maple wood strip and corn shuck Easter baskets.
So one champagne sunrise Mr. Goodbar commences walking down the butterscotch mountainside until he reaches the great lollipop forest. Soon he nears Mrs. Spenser's narrow Olde Pepper Candy trail, paved in brand new skittles and stimulating kratom. He ambles along feeling cheery O, wrought with a sensation of newly discovered confidence in himself. He gleefully daydreams of frivoling fairy folk, with a Snow Cream princess surrounded in amongst them, imagining himself dancing upon cotton candy clouds above, complacently ignoring his own surroundings while being absorbed into his own creative thoughts. Seemingly soon, he makes it to the Black Forest cake edge of Bon Bon river, at the confluence of gently moving Coffee Creek, where still stands the classical doric mansion farm estate of Lord John, and the mysterious reclusive virgin maid, Lady McDowel.
He passes the river bend, moving back up the bank toward the tall Grandy's Grass, and the lollipop woodland. As he walks near the thickest part of Grandy's Grass, he comes upon a veiled superbly made rapadura-cane pirogue, no doubt commissioned by none other than Lord John himself, at the request of his virgin maid, Lady McDowel. At least, she was always said to be pure as the driven snow by those in the valley locked away behind closed doors.
If he couldn't do anything else, Lord John often boasts in private braggadocious with the men during fall of the year around the outdoor fireplace out back by the lowland woodshed; that when virgin McDowel sashays so charmingly down the dirt road and gets shockingly inebriated off Loonatic Lucy Millennium's splendid homemade muscadine wine she loves to drink so much, she has two rather scrumptious wormholes that are always winking their eyes at him and very convenient to find, strangely enough; where he can simply slide his thumb and his middle finger into, pick her up and carry her back home like a high gravity twelve pack! Mr. Goodbar secretly knows better, however, and dares not speak a single disparaging word, anywhere to anybody. He entertains these still yet alluring thoughts, smiling as he poles the pirogue along with a swizzle stick freshly cut from the frothy mint hedge on the bend of coffee creek.
Way back when, on many a somber morning when he was a raw prickly lad of maybe eighteen, he would saunter down beside Bon Bon river quietly at day break, gradually moving into bourbon tinted Coffee Creek, stepping up on the side where the yaupon and blue lotus grow, only to be swallowed up by the cat-claw berry bushes and Grady's Grass. On feline-like feet he gradually made his way through the peanut butter cluster tickets to this intriguing doric mansion estate. His heart races wildly as he recalls lifting the brass lion's heavy ring in the center of its massive ironwood double doors. When the door eventually snapped open he expected a fine tuxedoed butler, or a plain smock covered milk servantess, but the person at the door was none other than the reclusive aging virgin maid, Lady McDowel, herself. She was wearing a dark version of a linen night cap and a Woman's Caged Crinoline Petticoat. She breathed heavily, licking her drying lips all around rather nervously with what he recalls thinking was an unusually vivacious tongue.
"I'm here to answer your call, my Lady," he recollects saying to her on this special day, while almost chuckling.
"Who sent you word?," she firmly inquired of him, "was it Rufus Waldson, the skittles and kratom layer, son of the Grand klutz, George Wald, the fourth?"
"Now you know me, my dear Lady," he recalls replying to her so subtly and fox-like. " I never was the type to kiss and tell," he recalls saying with a cagy glance and polite parting smile. "Let's just say word was delivered in a timely fashion by a good looking tiny hiney on a splendid tossed salad day-breeze, and here I am at your kind service, my dear madam! Most assuredly, your every desire is my personal command."
"That's so nice," Lady McDowel smiled with a cozy cagy sigh and a slight, barely noticeable chuckle.
He recalls her slowly glancing over his person, from his brogan booted feet, back up into his young but probably very noticeably anxious prickly face. An inviting smile smoothly streaked across her face all of a sudden.
"I have plenty to keep you busy around here, my dear son."
"That's good," he told her as he recalled swallowing hard. "I've been diligently searching for employment," he struggled to tell her as his breath fled. " Finding such a thing doesn't seem to be very commonplace in these parts this day and time." He takes a deep breath. "So, dear Lady McDowel, I hear you need some new Royal Icing spread o'er the edges of your enchanting gingerbread estate."
"That, I do," she replied to him in earnest. Another smile jerked across her face. "Oh, that I most certainly do, dear one."
"I was told your Regal Crown brick walkways needed a few hard-boiled horehound bricks replaced, and your favorite set of glass slippers was in desperate need of a good polishing," he told her as he recalls swallowing hard again.
"So right you are," she smiled as she spoke to him. "Was there anything else? You almost have it all summed up perfectly."
He hesitated before speaking. He breathed inward deeply, nervously licking his lips. A thin smile inches across his white hot face.
"Was it your grand tester that needed stabilizing, Lady McDowel?"
"That it was, my dear boy! You have it all caught up tightly right there inside the bang bag now." She smiled again as she glared deeply into his eyes. He will never live long enough to forget her soul piercing glare. " So I guess you had better hop to it now, big boy, this day 's-a winding away quickly."
He recalls every exact specific detail in perfectly clear form. It had been many a year since then now, but he still held tightly onto these most private reflections, shall we say. It was worthwhile for him to. One day he would be a famous writer and showman, and these secrets would give him something to write-script about that nobody else would ever possess. He recalls sweating profusely while laboring beneath a strawberry sun that afternoon. He licked his lips, tasting the Jasmine scented nectar condensating so profusely from somewhere deep within his flesh. He recalls counting a hundred Regal Crown hard-candy bricks that were dutifully changed out that sultry day.
Then he retrieved the cinnamon wood step ladder from inside the sugar cane barn. Once he made it outside, Lady McDowel met him at the front door of the house with freshly opened gallon sized hedonium cans. She was now wearing a short skirted petticoat, crafted from blush rose satin. He recalls suddenly breathing in deeply as if he'd suffered an electric jolt of some type. He also recalls never pondering much on the matter prior to the time, but her form and hour-glass figure really fit nicely into that, shall we say, almost vapor-like rose petticoat. The perfume she exuded when she moved about was ultra-seductive pussy-peach and lovely lavender... He simply couldn't believe his eyes or his nose. He laughs now in reflection as he poles the pirough along the Bon Bon.
" I have these cans of Royal Icing," She told him as she turned her back toward him, bending down to set the cans upon the ground at the foot of the Cologne Cathedral cinnamon wood stick ladder. "These are not the low grades here, let me assure you honey, these are nothing less than Royal Diamond Icing."
His heart raced wildly as her evening tinted short skirted dress seemed to stick upon her racy body, as if it too were painted on with an expensive fleece roller of some type. He felt jittery on the inside, he recalls, but battled the sensation with every ounce of strength he had, fearing she might notice and deduce his most confidential risque thoughts. He subconsciously commenced biting his fingernails. She suddenly stood, turning to catch him doing so. She never made any reply, but a smooth smile eased across her rather clear pallid face, as she stood so eloquently, focusing directly on him. He never would forget that specific scene as long as he lived.
