Klev, Clever. Beverly. Clarely? Clearly.

Surly Murly got a swirly but never sought revenge. Until early one morning he shot barly and juniper from a flask he held hushed to the sun. Gin once again in the hot desert sin, he slugged from his jug of tin. Morein, his kettle unsettled, he heated his metal, and boiled his dagger once more. It laid through the skin of his rivalous friend and he walked with him dead on the floor.

by Brian Gore & Ryan Hochstatter