Tan-in-a-can seemed like a good idea at the time. The occasional orange-stained towel was a small price to pay for an exuberant epidermis. His honey-tinted limbs attracted honey-scented honeys to his side. And this natty cat couldn’t say scat to these kittens. His hue harbored hubris. One hotsy-totsy played it coy and cool and lured the boy away from his harem. The kittens got catty, they hissed and they snarled as the golden goddess Diana reduced their Burnt Sienna Burt to a monosyllabic stupor.
He said, “Hey.”
She said, “Nay.”
As he started to leave, she said, “Stay.”
He said, “Yay!”
Her glow was natural, his was a fake. Tan-in-a-can lead to love, loss, and lethargy. The occasional stained towel multiplied by hundreds. The ultimate pad for a free-wheelin’ guy eventually turned into a sky-high pig sty. Now all he has left is a cyan cyst on his chest.
A brief explanation about the Boggle writing experiment.