I know who you did last summer...
Sang Sacré
The fictional Buffista City. With a variety of neighborhoods, climates, and an Evil Genius or two, Sang Sacre is where we'd all live if it were real. Jump in -- find a neighborhood, start a parade, become a superhero. It's what you make it.
Dogs barking. Can't fly without umbrella.
I gave the barking dog an umbrella. It still barked, but at least it was barking in another part of the country.
Eddie had to leave the bar and drive off in his Subaru Outback(tm). I sat there on the stool, nursing my shot of tequlia. Okay, I never ordered a drink and wasn't nursing anything, but I was still in a bar. Time to get on the case and stop sitting around like a dead armadillo on the highway.
I rumbled over to town hall in my AMC station wagon. There it was, an art deco monument to government, only the monument was coated in the pigeon droppings of corruption these days.
The pigeon droppings of corruption on the monument of government are only a reflection of the hard water stain of apathy on the faucet of civilization.
The doggy doo-doo of apathy joins the pigeon droppings of corruption upon the monument of government.
Too bad I don't care enough to clean it all off.
What this town needs is a giant Mr. Magic Clean Eraser. Those other ones, the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser... well, we don't really want to erase the magic around here, do we?
It's a bigger mess than feared, as the the monkeys have flung simian skat of insincerity, which has joined the aforementioned doo-doo and droppings.
Ha! Totally tagged, connie!
I'm It!
It was a stark and barmy night: the bits came in torrent - except at occasional intervals when it was checked by network outages which swept up the magick conduits (for it is in Sang Sacre that our story lies), rattling along the treetops, and agitating the scanty flame of flaminess that struggled against the drabth.