"I have a surprise for you," said Space Baron and Brian instantly protected his crotch.
"No, this morning it isn't a violent surprise..." and Space Baron told Brian the surprise, which the reader can't hear in a Get Smart like plot disguise, "...but only if..." and Space baron once again said something you can't know.
"OK, if you insist. But I have to go on the record as saying that alliteration is overated" said Brian before Space Baron led him into the yard.
"That's thine opinion, oh obvious one." replied Space Baron before he silently stepped, sensibly, into the tall, timorous, timber time machine.
Brave, bold, boring Brian followed freely saying strongly, "Why have we wandered and weaved into this waiting willow."
"What?"
"Why are we here?"
"Well, we're working with the past." pointed out SB perspicaciously.
Brian replied, "That's thoughtful, thanks for informing your focused, fucked up, friend. Shouldn't we shuffle?."
"Fair enough."
"Feel free."
"Fine!." SB shouted shortly, and turned the twistable time traveller transistor to twelve hundred and twenty two.
In an incredible, ingenious, ingenuous, ignominous, instant the infallible intreped inroad-makers were flung fearlessly forward into the dim, dangerous, dull, Dark Ages; amazingly alighting an available axle.
"Oww." said Space Baron.
"Oh, no."Brian readily replied.
"It's Ok, only one olfactory organ opened."
Just then, strident, strong, stern Space Baron spied the lazy, lax, lonely, loquacious Lord Lancelot (the evil twin of Sir Lancelot) lounging loftily on an adjacent, adjective, available adverb.
"To think that this was thou surprise sends spite sizzling to my sandals." cried Brian, in keeping with the alliteration and the times.
"Draw your dagger damned dickhead." SB cried challengingly.
"Come and kill me cunt." responded LL raunchily.
"Re Rareful Race Raron." said Scooby Doo, able to always alliterate.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAa aahahahah." cried both combatants courageously as they churlishly charged each other.
However, foolish fog-headed Space Baron had forgotten his fighting featured football boots and he fell, flinging fear onto Faggoty Brian's feminine features. "Fuck". Fortunately a fucking old fir tree fell frighteningly far to fuck up Lord Lancelot's last lascivious, luckless lifting of his sharp, shining sword.
"I'm glad that's over," said Brian, "Rob was running out of adverbs."
"I didn't suggest stopping," said Space Baron spitefully before brutally bashing Brian on the back of the head with a round, red rock, ending his hopelessly homosexual existence.
ENDE
WILL A CHEAP LOOPHOLE IN THE SPACE TIME CONTINUUM REVIVE BRIAN?
OR WILL WE JUST FORGET HE EVER DIED?