Anyone want a Frrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrappuccino?

So, I’m sauntering the sultry streets the other day, when I felt the urge to slink into my local Slurp-N-Lurk.

Once inside I ordered my usual from this establishment – a Grapefruit Frappuccino and a Pumpberry Cake – and received something else, because they were all out of my usual.

I sat myself down on a comfortable seat near an outlet so I could plug myself in, defuse, and soak in the whole scene….

Well! Barely had I leaned back to begin my morose contemplation of the sad state of contemplation today (why can people not contemplate properly anymore!?), when I was fairly unrooted from the earth by the most god-wrenching sequence of high-volume sound-squawks!

The two fine gentlemen next to me were conducting an insanely passionate discussion in a language that will hereafter be known as Squawkeranto. After much listening I decoded that Squawkeranto consisted of the following letters:

A, B, C, R, E, F, R, R, I R, R, R, R, N, O, P, Q, R, S, R, U, R, R, X, Y, R

Want a Frrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrappuccino?

Want a Frrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrappuccino?

Also, it should be noted that most letters other than ‘R’ were not audibly spoken, but instead communicated through striking and rubbing one’s stomach.  R’s on the other hand were always accompanied by the flapping of ones arms and must be yelled forcefully and fearlessly at lung-shredding volumes!

Around this point it struck me as possible that they were practising a mating ritual of some kind, and that I may become the object of their affections, what with my covert secret camera operation and all, so I hastily gulped down my drink and beat a path for the door.

I did flap on my way out thinking that I may need to get airborne to escape these strange beasts.

 

 

 

 

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