Quelle heure est-il? C'est neuf heures cinq. Merci. J'adore entendre.
My mother is a fish.
"When did you learn to cook?" Asked Jane's mother as she finished stewing her stewly beef stew as it stewed in its stewable stew pot with stew in it.
"Why, I learned in the King's army, I did." Said Jane to her aging and mostly hairless mother. "King Wendelcles demands that all of his Royal Para-Tank-Troopers be well-learned in the culinary art of stewary."
"How fascinating this conversation truly is, Jane. I think we should continue this conversationly conversation on the next conversationly line." Said Jane's mother to Jane as she stood Janely by the Jane stew.
"Ah, so here we are on the next conversational line, Mother. About what should we talk? Oh, I know. Let us discuss the state of cave-dwelling monkeywives and their antelope butlers. There are many of these things that I just mentioned in that last sentence. The sentence that came before the one before this one. Which is also truly the sentence before the sentence before this sentence." Said Jane mysteriously to her mother, who was now lying on the floor clutching her stuffed cat whose name was Captain McWhiskerton the Seventeenth of the Inner Rim before he had been hit by a rogue exploding crayfish seven months before this sentence.
"Ah, yes. Monkeywives.;;;;;; Hmm...I was about to add a related sentence to that earlier nonsentence and long string of semicolons. But I guess I really had nothing else to add." Said Jane's mother with the stuffed Captain McWhiskerton secured squarely in her armpit, a coatrack in her blue hands. "One thing I will add is that when I was a young girl, my young locks of white hair flowing youngly in the breeze of the young world's young blueness, I happened upon a monkeywife who did smite my young cat, Captain McWhiskerton the Seventeenth of the Inner Rim, and here I hold him squarely in my armpit as was previously cited. He is dead now, my beloved, oh the death he did suffer at the deathly hands of the death-dealing deadliness of death's own death-dealer, the deathly deadly monkeywife."
"But Mother," Jane began while she threw toothpicks at a squatter who lived next door to them in the old Karpinski-Bouvier-Carpenter-Bouvier house. "I thought the narrator had previously described your beloved cat's death as caused by a rogue exploding crayfish. What giveth? And what taketh away?"
At that very moment, a rogue exploding crayfish exploded them rightly, and with this exploding explosion this narrative exploded into an end.