Oscar Grey blows banana-shaped pipe smoke, luring chimps with stomachs so noisy, neighbors call time out.
As the game resumes, Oscar’s hand slips from his wrist, falling for days, till on the seventh, the hand grows a new Oscar Grey.
The new Oscar Grey twists balloon poodles whose furs contain smaller poodles (∞), drooling out rivers where scheming men raise clumsy Jolly Rogers that occasionally drop a bone or two like bricks from old Oscar’s spidery home.
Webs spun with sugarcane fibers lure stray Oscar Greys into future entrées so exquisite, seated guests wait days.
On the seventh, Oscar folds, forfeiting his staked daughter who flutters so rabidly, everything collapses. Henceforth, no further mention of Oscar Grey is possible.