Good morning World.
Look!!! A squash in the razor-wire on the wall!!
Well! If somebody can explain how dis squash get chook-up in dis-here razor-wire...
…like a man been passing with a squash that he buy and decide, “Aww man, ah don't want it.” So he pelt it in de razor-wire and gone he way.
Just to be absolutely sure dat de squash ain't a spy, I been observin' it with small binoculars.
De squash ain't exactly in de razor-wire itself. De squash is impaled on a spike.
Love gone wrong? Murder by rival?
De squash is a man...I look very closely with de binoculars.
Ahh, now de night unfold she dark wings and flutter down, covering de squash.
Between you 'n' me and dese 4 walls, I think de squash is a dastardly dastard, pretending to be impaled in de razor-wire.
When de sandman sprinkle decent people to sleep, de squash gon sneak off and have he way with wild girls loitering late on de sea-wall.
Very, very bad squash. Rrrrotten squash! I hope de police ketch he!
Maybe I'm wrong. I shouldn't be so judgmental. Maybe a jealous man dash de sweet, nice squash into de razor-wire, impaling it…
Tomorrow, I gon solve de mystery. Who impale de squash in de razor-wire? G'night, sweet folks. Or g'day to you all at de end of de earth.
Mornin' sun spread bright-hot like truth. Mr. Squash is back, pretending to be impaled in de razor-wire after he night of debauchery.
Cars roar past de silent slinky sea, de sea can't speak, too shocked by what Mr. Squash does do up on de seawall in de cover of de dark.
Ahh, Mr. Squash, you...you...Dorian Gray. You try to appear green outside but I see your rottin' under-side.
Watch dis space, people...