Dogman Dinghy, Cobbler

Albacore and finch (the) haberdashers (of) fine men’s clothing (and) neurosis. Freud had his suits tailored there, by a tailor with one thumb and no forefinger. Adler had his shoes resoled there, by a cobbler with a metronome leg and thick eyebrows. The cuckoldry Jung had his collective unconscious reconstituted there, by Martin Morrison the 3rd, not the 2nd or 4th. I refuse to lie like a dog, to hound with you all, I’m staying awake! Dogman Dinghy drew a pictogram of a diorama with the heel of his right foot, unlike that bastard Scottish git with the pillows head and carpoolers, fucking sad bastard cad. Jack and the beanstockyard ate biscuits and Taoist toasts cut into neat little ribbons, just like his dear marmot used to make with a flint knife and a scooter’s fintanfintantannery, me footsies gone to sleep, cobbler’s shoehorn and awl. Nisei nitre tm yawl awl.