Puttied Heirloom

Felonium cautiously took a step backwards, raising his eyes to the eave of the door to check the address. 81762, check. His eyes dropped back to Oxy’s devious smirk. “Please, won’t you kum in,” Oxykleen said, beckoning. Felonium whipped his head around to see if anyone was behind him. Nope.

“How did you get here? And who let you in?” asked Felonium.

“That’s a funny story,” Oxykleen responded, “I stole your red bike with the glittery blue streamers” Felonium continued to stare at his new arch-nemesis, his blood boiling. "Then I hid it in the bed of you-call-those-geraniums-question-mark at the park, for just such an occasion.

“Gellatinous (charming gal, I might add) opened the door for me upon my replikation of your sekret knock and she didn’t notice that I wasn’t you,” Oxy continued.

“Well, never mind all that diddly nonsense and get to kleening my kloc, will you?” Felonium snapped.

“You mean the grandfather kloc I just repaired with purple gooply putty?”

“That was salvaged from the Titanic!”

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