To-day's Robyn's birthday. We pause on this day to remember the ink demons of the Galapagos Islands, who were torn from their subterranean abodes by the amazing, 70 foot "Spruce Robyn", Howard Hughes' secret machine of war. The tiny demon souls were placed in a simple, rock bowl known as a "mortar" and crushed into a powder with what is known as a "pestle".
Released into the winds on an auspicious day in northern Russia, the resulting dust mingled with transatlantic gales before spontaneously reforming in the White House on one June 27th, at daybreak.
Most minds have been cleansed of those memories relating to the brief reign of America by Casper the Dead Baby King, who was vanquished by Robyn within hours of her birth with the help of Nightcrawler and Henry Fonda.
One of America's greatest heroines, nicknamed "Robyn Ma" after she used her mighty telekinetic powers to overturn the twin 80 exalitre jugs of Massachusetts to irrigate the secret 1980s dustbowl, she nonetheless to-day lives anonymously amongst the people she saved, due to the cruel mass-mind-wiping perpetrated by Robo-Tommy Lee Jones.
But the heroine remains yet a heroine, for while brains may wash clean as Etch A-Sketch in the waves of God's boring shore, the heart is a thing of clogable arteries, wherein the blood and the spirit may remain steadfast. Such a heart is not Robyn's, no. Her heart burns independently with the pure fire of ghosts! The echoing voices of tropical demon souls resound back to us as the song of hope as Robyn handles books that some people turn in way past due, and get angry at her for some reason.
The perplexing riddle of this world is a mug of boiling liquid cellophane, pondered by the smiling Buddhas eternally sitting on Robyn's shoulders. Keep your vigil, Buddha Fairies, and fight on, Robyn Ma! Fight on!
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