But on their ‘scape from the placemat o’ the crime, the colony o’ roses were blocked by a long stream o’ salsa so hot it spit fire from the mouth o’ Mt. Rooster.
The lead rose, Erin, hastily pulled out her grass whistle. “It’s a good thing we found this in Rye Valley.” She blew into it, releasing a long stream o’ black light, but no sound.
A second after, a sparrow as gray as rain swooped down from the smoky clouds with a giant butter knife in its beak & proceeded to slice the river in half, leaving just raw cornflower crust in the middle.