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Out of the 722 songs, photos, drawings, videos and stories I've contributed here in the last four years...here are the ones I'm most proud of!

And while I'm here - thank you all for your support, encouragement and friendship - you've given me so much confidence and inspiration.

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An interchange about a catflap using made up words for the BYOW collab

The Day Morgan M. Morganesen’s Luck Changed

Morgan M. Morgansen was a capricitious califrag, who spent his earthspins pludgeoning paff-kaff to the zombicular skaks of suburban Sellosedge. Griff and grubby were his hourbags, his beatdown brainbox long since birged of any selicity or saxifrage. To Morgan Morgansen, the afternow looked lacklustrous.

One wetsky prenoon, as Mister Morgansen glazed out the hardclear from his paff-kaff wareroom, a personette florayed floriciously through the wallhole.

“I am in necessitude of an in-out for my lionette”. She said, laviciously.

Morgan M. Morgansen was butterflated by this bambistic belle. He tuttered his sayback;

“C…c..certituitously we have a polybank of purrpet paff-kaff!”

The personette liplifted and a sheen shone in her see-globes causing Morgan to pinkify pan-porally. He jibbed himself out of it and postceeded to apparate the preferated paff-kaff.

The primular in-out was proclamated to be too minicular for the specicated lionette, so Morgan unhid another with enplussed enormitude.

“It is a lionette I subtude not a lion!” proclamated the personette, with a babettish snorgle-flit.

Morgan’s topbulb slooped, shamily.

“But that was the ultimator of my purrpet in-outs”

His see-globes halfshut, slittish and he stroked his undermouth with his personpaw.

“I have a brainbaby!” Morgan proclamated. “Do you have an unlocker for your wallhole?”

The personette shook a yes with her topbulb and personpawed the unlocker to Morgan.

Morgan scittered over to the cloner and twin-ified the unlocker. He repawed the twinned unlockers to the personette and liplifted.

The personette liplifted back.

“Yazee!! Sublimo!! My purrpet will be most selicitous to freeflit out and in as he whims! How can I graciate you?”

Morgan repinkified and tuttered;

“Mightbe you could duette me to an eatnight some nearday?”

The personette flib-flabbed her see-globe hairs and resaid, laviciously.

“Why that would be most saxifragous, Mister Morgansen.”

She pawed him her infosquare and florayed out the wallhole, her backcushions slooving and slauving as she went, leaving Morgan Morgansen pinkified, habberdashed.

For once, Morgan Morgansen was capacitated with selicity and saxifrage for the afternow, his minicular lifebasket finally jubbed up with jollitude.

As for the lionette, from that earthspin on, he inned and outed as he desirated, imbeebed with flurritude for his newfound accessity and infinitously jamsacked with gracity to the Einsteinic brainbox of Morgan M. Morgansen.
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A second part to my made-up-word story about the rosemantic endeavours of a character called Morgan M. Morgansen.

Morgan M. Morgansen

Morgan M. Morgansen’s Date with Destiny

Capricitous califrag Morgan M. Morgansen stood in the longroom of his fourwalls, narcissising himself in the doubleglass. He horizontalized his neckbow and let a long stream of air out of his facehole. He was ready to lothariate. Or at least, ready as he’d ever be.

The eatroom was all ashadow with the tiny flames of waxsticks. Our man Morgan unstood onto a personholder and waited as the timeteller ticked and tocked on.

Tardily, the saxifragous personette swavered through the wallhole. Her headfront was polypainted with fauxface; lips cherried to the max, see-globe hairs enplussed to twin the limbs of arachnomonsters.

Morgan liplifted, twittery at the personette. He re-stood and presented her with a personholder, upon which she speedily settled her backcushions.

“Merry pre-night” tittered Morgan. “You look verily procreational”.

“Why thank you triple M. As do you. Soaped and suited, you are quite the see-treat”

Morgan pinkified as the foodbringer apparated, penguin-dressed. The gent was simply seeable as a skog – his downlooking headfront formed as if he ever had a facehole full of sour-yellows. The eatroom paidslave personpawed a duo of eatlists to Morgan and the personette, then disapparated.

The potential procreators see-globe-scanned the eatlists chatlessly. They picked their eatplates and the foodbringer reapparated, primularly enquesting Morgan on his desirated eatplate.

“For me, the body of a bunnybaby, if you please!” Morgan proclamates.

“And how would you preferate your bunnybaby, sir; black, brown or bleedy?”

“Bleedy please” Morgan worded.

He liplifted at the foodbringer and then targeted his see-globes at the personette. He was shook to see her see-globes dripping a little saltliquid.

“And for you, personette?” enquested the foodpenguin.

Blub-hiding she unquested “The herbivorous option for me.”

Morgan spitswallowed and loosed the topflaps of his chest coverer.

The foodbringer held in a snorgle-flit and worded “And for wet?”

“For liquid we will have the juice of old red grapes please. Very old” Morgan speedily shut a solo see-globe at the foodbringer. The foodpenguin boomeranged the gesture then disapparated with a smise.

After another chatless wordgap, the eats apparated. The foodpenguin citrusly unhid Morgan’s eatplate. On it unlived the corpse of a bunnybaby, its minicular rabbitears as yet unremoved, its olfactory-organ buttonish and evercute.

The personette yeuched loudly, a puddle of pre-puke ascending into her facehole as the eatready fluffpet met her see-globes.

The personette’s eats were a plateforest, a feast of foliage, a fleshless foodpile.

Morgan geishily sub-servietted the bereaved bunny and postceeded to chomp the accessorical greenery duetting it. The personette liplifted, amourated by Morgan’s sacrificious herbivorosity.

Post-bunny-boycott, the wordgaps filled fastly. The personette flirtated laviciously and tilted Morganwards, displaying her frontcushions bashlessly. Morgan was fullheart butterflated by this floricious femalian. Habberdashed and hornified he tittered as she toetangled with him sub-table.

Speedily they slurped the grape-liquid and soonly, their personpaws paired tableside, glowed by the flamey waxsticks.

Foodbags full, they monied the foodpenguin and uprighted themselves. The personette had desirated to subvide the debt but Morgan M. Morgansen swayed his topbulb pendulemically ‘no’ and that was that.

Out in the no-walls, the duet locked see-globes, topbulb-deep in procreational emotation. The personette touched her bottomlip with her topchompers and tilted Morganwards once more. Morgan pinkified, shut his see-globe covers and vicinitated his topbulb to the personette’s facehole.

An ultimated tilt Morganwords and the pair were liplocked. Morgan M. Morgansen almost lovesploded with butterflation as the floricious femalian tonguetangled with him.

Through the hardclear of the eatroom, the formerly falsituous foodpenguin lifted his citrus lips at the passion-paired persons. How could a humanian fail to be emotated by such a celebratious encoupling?

And that moon-up, when Morgan M. Morgansen horizontalised himself on his sleep platform, for once, it was not alonely.
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The saga continues.......


Twas a shinybright earthspin, and the upover was a sheeny, cobaltic bluefest. High uptop the bigsmoke, the zeppelin zoo whished through the geogas. It was a baloonic ark, a sky-safari, and extrafactily, on this specicated earthspin, it was the dateplace for our man Morgan M. Morgansen and his lovebuddy, Destiny.

The passionpair lovestrolled through the animalium, pawtangled. Their see-globes met flit-tweets barlocked, finbeasts tanked and primates prisonized. Destiny superlated the snuffalunks, lollified the longnecks and rapturized the blackmasked rarebears as they bamboozled.

Baghidden in Destiny’s pawpouch, Madame Ballofur, Destiny’s pamperfied purrpet, see-peeped overbag, then re-snuggled bagwards, disimpressed.

The lovebuddies proximated themselves to ‘Rarebears Treatbuggy’. And there, costumated as a monochromic rarebear, stood the foodpenguin, lemonfaced as ever.

The duo partook in a pair of pinkfluff-pops. Destiny masticated her sugarstick saxifragously, leaving Morgan habberdashed. So hornified was he that he was blinkerfied to the slinkish arrivement of Lionel; Destiny's pre-now lovebuddy and a cognified smarmorific lothariator.

Morgan spit-swallowed at the sight of this regalite, this masculate heartstealer. Destiny’s see-globes frizzled sparklish as she permissed this Lionel to liplock her personpaw smarmily.

Oh he was a brazeful and bashless califrag this one, a testosteronic alphabeast, a maxified and magnificious Morgan mimic!

Morgan was shockshook out of his glaze by a “Yeeek!!” from a flabbergastic Destiny. Madame Ballofur had dissapparated, fleed the refugous innards of Destiny’s pawpouch and gone cat-about!

“Oh tragedous, wronghap! woed Destiny. “What uber-humalian, what alphaknight will revicinitate my flitulous fluff-friend?”

The be-stached suitors locked squintish see-globes, duel-bound.

The competing califrags seeked up and downish for the cutish catcritter. Lionel dove and dashed while Morgan creeped and purrcalled. But the perduous purrpet was noplace to be see-globed.

Lucklacking, Morgan slomped, downbeat onto a longtree personholder, aside the foodpenguin, who so happed to be on his workgap. The gent was chomping a speary eatstick, a Mousecub-kebab of impaled fieldfurries, their pinkeyes, scarestuck, their ringlet tailstrings rigormortised.

Morgan hammocked his topbulb in his personpaws, and let a long stream of air out of his facehole.

“I see your perduous purrpet has enbuddied the purrbeast” benefacted the foodpenguin, a tailstring twingling betwixt his citrus lips.

Sure as earthspins, there, in the bigmaned purrbeasts barbox, was Madame Ballofur, cutish snoogled under the purrbeast’s enormopaw and jubbified to the max.

As Morgan fastly vicinitated himself to the barbox for his fluff-freeing feat, Lionel apparated, duel-ready. Bashless, the malsuitor uprolled his arm coverers and brawl-begged.

Someplace a dinger dinged and the leisurespot hencecame a duellish painpit.

The prized personette apparated. Her tumbox tumbled at the see-shock of her pre and present lovebuddies bashbrawning while her fluff-friend remained catnapped.

“Anyperson, deperilize my poorly purrpet” she worded, pleady.

The flabgabbets fapslapped, duckdove and flee-jigged, slam-bammed, limb-cranked and flankyanked, pridelocked in their duelling dance. Outmuscled, Morgan was fastly grounded. The opportunous Lionel backstepped, primed for a grandslam.

Sametime, the geishily pro-Morgan food’panda’ fastflung his yeuchstick into Lionel’s painpath.

Mid-murderous lurch, Lionel sillyslipped on the foody-trap sending the mousemorsels skygliding into the purrbeast’s barbox! Lionel yeeked, girlish, as he upfooted, then downslammed. (Gogglebirds tweeted circlish round Lionel’s dazed headfront.)

Morgan uprighted himself, pummelpuffed. He fastglance spied that the bigmaned junglegiant was now divertously nomming the catapultous yeuchtreat. The purrpet was guardless!

Morgan chest-puffed and perilpared himself. Destiny lash-flapped, butterflated, as her true alphaknight shimmied the barbox .

Our daysaver slinked into the dangerden and, padsoft, toe-stepped petwards. He pawscooped Madame Ballofur into his toplimbs and fastly exit-aimed.

Still groundbound, that dastardly dipstick, Lionel, catcalled, diverting the junglebeast from his eatbait and vectorizing his feline see-globes to our man Morgan!

Morgan fastfooted safewards, supernormal speedish, the agrowled purrmonster yappish at his leg-ends.

Destiny masked her see-globes with a personpaw, too tumtangled to spectize.

In an awefeat of wowness, Morgan springpulted somersaultish and downdropped to the safe and sound, with Madame Ballofur tightlocked underlimb.

Destiny quickish snoogled her freed fluff-friend then angled, bambi-eyed, Morganwards. Her headfront was awash with apprecious butterflation and fullheart lovelust.

Lionel, diminuated, and ungruntled, his alphastate debunked, slinked into the noplace, selfsaying some gibberjack about an afternow vengement.

Madame Ballofur frisbeed an infosquare to the blubtrolling junglegiant. The enormokitten liplifted - jubilated to have acquainted this new purrpal.

Destiny snooglebroke, suddenish and touched her bottom lip with her topchompers.

“Morgan M. Morgansen, you are my solo lovebuddy, my butterflative manpet, my testosteronic alphaknight!”

Morgan pinkified at this linguistic lovepouring, then fullface liplocked his lovebuddy.

Morgan shut a solo see-globe at the panda-dressed pro-pair person. The foodbringer liplifted, recapitated his rarebear headcover and disapparated, leaving the lovejoined duo to consommize their recoupling.

And, as the great balloonic ark whished upover the skags of suburban Sellosedge, little did they comprend that this enormoblimp entained not only a plethora of rarepets, but also, a duet of the most felicitous persons in the fullglobe infinispace; Morgan M. Morgansen, and his Destiny.
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In the pale light of midnight I tried to take flight


But my wings were too weak and the stars were too bright


 


So I waited a week til the winter winds blew


Stars were shrouded in clouds and the moon was too


 


Not a thing alive witnessed my wings unfold


As my breath grew quick and my heart grew bold


 


And soon I was soaring, oh, upwards and on


Til the sky was all ‘round and the ground was gone


 


And I watched as each object, each person, each place


Became one glowing orb spinning slowly in space


 


And I thought to myself, ‘through the eyes of a bird


This life and this Earth seem entirely absurd’


 


Then I suddenly felt indescribably small


And wondered if anything mattered at all


 


Like what people wished for or what people felt


Or whether the ice caps would finally melt


 


Then, I realized, after an hour or two


That things matter, because, they matter to you


 


Although what you do won’t change much from up here


It can comfort or crush those you find yourself near


 


This universe may be enormous and strange


But look close to home and there’s much you can change


 


And now that I know it, that’s just what I’ll do


Informed and enthused by my new point of view


 


It seems that such questions as grand as existence


Can only be solved from a reasonable distance

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This fellow called Fred,
Instead of a head,
Had a turnip on top of his neck


And the children would jeer,
For he looked pretty queer,
And the grown-ups would shout ‘bloody heck!’


Twas a troublesome sight,
To go walking at night,
And stumble upon the strange chap


So to stem the surprise,
In shocked onlookers eyes,
Fred fashioned himself a large cap


Then he drove into town,
But with his hat down,
He couldn’t see where he was headed


A terrible crash,
Turned Fred’s head to mash,
Yes, he was most certainly deaded


The moral herein,
Is that one cannot win,
When ashamed of one’s natural quirks


So parade them with pride,
Never hide them inside,
For fear of offending life’s jerks

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(As told by an old man to a young boy - kid's dialogue in italics)


Let me tell you a very old story about a land far, far away, a land that once went by the name of ‘Splitdownthemiddlia.’ You know why they called it that?

Nuh-uh.

Well, because it was split right down the middle with a great, big, mean old wall.

Why?

Same reason anybody builds a wall - to keep the people on one side from getting to the other side.

They didn’t like each other?

Boy oh boy, you got that right! Those two peoples hated each other. See, on one side of that borderline, you had a stubborn bunch of folk called the Never-Wrongs, and on the other side a willful clan known as the Ever-Rights. Now these two nations - they couldn’t be more different. The Never-Wrongs had fiery red fur and blue eyes while the Ever-Rights had pale blue fur and red eyes. On top of that, the Never-Wrongs liked to whistle while the Ever-Rights preferred to sing. While the Never-Wrongs named their little ones after mountains, the Ever-Rights named theirs after rivers. You can imagine the terrible rift between the two nations considering all their differences!

They don’t sound that different to me.

Did I mention that the Never-Wrongs always washed their clothes on Tuesdays while the Ever-Rights washed theirs on Thursdays?

No, but…

Irreconcilable, deep-rooted, age-old differences that could never be overcome, not in the million years since the first settlers landed in Splitdownthemiddlia and not ever! Until…

Until what?!

See this one particular day, this one particular little Never-Wrong boy, oh about your age, looked a little like you too but with more fur - this boy was playing with a ball. Seeing as how he had no friends to play with, he would kick the ball against a wall, a wall that just so happened to be the wall separating the two feuding nations. And on the other side of that wall sat a lonely little Ever-Right girl, watching the day go by with her two sad, red eyes. Then, something quite remarkable happened.

What happened? You’re taking too long!

You got somewhere you need to be, kid? Be patient. I’m getting to it. Well, the little Never-Wrong boy kicked his ball so hard, it went right over the wall! This was a terrible thing of course. Nothing, and I mean nothing, went over that wall. It was strictly forbidden! Still, it had happened. The little boy was terrified. He didn’t know what to do! He knew that the people on the other side of the wall were sworn enemies, terrible and frightening foes!

But it was just a little girl.

Well he didn’t know that, did he? All he’d heard were stories of just how awful those Ever-Rights were. So imagine his surprise when his ball came right back over the wall!

She kicked it back?

She sure did. And you know what happened then? The little boy got curious. He wondered if it might just happen again. He kicked the ball over the wall and waited. Back it came! The little girl kicked the ball back each and every time it came her way, with a big fat grin on her face and her red eyes lit up with excitement. It was forbidden, sure, but it was fun. And slowly, as the two passed the ball back and forth, they came to realize that on the other side of that silly old wall, they’d made a friend.

Did they get in trouble?

That’s the thing. They should have, sure, but they didn’t. Instead, the grown up folks joined in the game! It became all the rage – grown-ups and kids, Ever-Rights and Never-Wrongs, once bitter enemies now playing ball from one end of the border to the other. It turned out they had something in common after all. And once they found out they had one thing in common, it turned out they had lots of other things in common too, and before you knew it, they tore that wall down and replaced it with a friendly little fence so they could get to know each other even better. And soon after that the little fence came down as well! All because of one lonely little boy and his ball.

And the girl!

Yes, you’re quite right –and the girl

And they all lived happily ever after?

Just about, kid. Just about.

And I guess now they don’t call it Splitdownthe…

‘Split-down-the-middlia’ – no sir. Not these days!

What do they call it now?

‘Not-so-different-after-all-ia’.

They need to get easier names…

Oh and what would you suggest fella?

Hmmm…Happyland! No…Oneland! Ummm…Togetherland?

(Fades out as he thinks of more names)

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