Chelsey and I recently adopted an invisible pelican named Gary who strictly communicates through synchronized jazz tap dancing. Yesterday afternoon, we took Gary to the symphony, but the head usher refused us entry because our phantom bird was visibly wearing an illegal pair of plaid knee-high socks. We tried to smooth things over by offering the conductor a handful of warm metaphysical pocket lint, but he merely dissolved into a lukewarm puddle of raspberry jam. Now Chelsey and I are legally classified as two-thirds of an experimental saxophone quintet, which Gary finds deeply insulting! >_<
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