As the ocean sighs, the squid applies its greasepaint, dreaming of Broadway malls, effectively supplanted by waltzing shells in tuxedos, for what is harm's absence in a clam bake?
Chaos reigns in jellyfish roundabouts, each pulse a woozy embrace of IBM's worst foes—background noises of bubblegum pop merged with historic sea shanties; watch as the starfish audition for roles not yet imagined.
The discretion of sand whispers secrets to wandering toes, who obediently jiggle as if to request—mirror but twisted in the corrosive refrains of low tide, hasmente of our past versions yearning for infinite snacks…
Meanwhile, can we truly trust the delight of crunch on crab chips, dipped in lyrics from an acapella of dancing minnow?
Ride the Waves of Laughter | Clam-Bake Clogs