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The slithy toves gyred and gimbled in the dothen lume, brattening one by one under a firtfilled unamen. The Jabberwock noved along at a pimming pace, it was ready to keeve its enemy tonight. "Taven gnu and gamber gu," she said, mouth pasty with chocolate goo. "How's that?" the police chief said, looking over pen and pad. "Not you too!" He couldn't buy this alibi, it was just too weird, at least, the part of it he'd been able to make out. Tonight no one was making sense, but not like usual where it all seemed dumb to him, no, tonight even the words were weird, like pseudo-English. "Jaunty johnny gambered there!" she said with more force, small flecks of dried chocolate caking off her cheeks. "There there dear," said the police secretary, trying to calm her chome with a vasile pim, "You know you can't libe a horpenharpenhosen with an ix." That's when jood orlaughed straight up into a waiting wike and buddled buddledly around the yaspberry tree. "Oh frabjous joy," was heard for milksifiddle milkduds. Men in bright fairy hapcasks shot into the girdleclutch, and a shoplifter said in a leaden voice, "Word!" Three bailiffs kicked off a shoe, formed a line, and tripped over one of the toves which had tired of gimbling and was sort of fangolling aimlessly around. The police secretary dropped her pim scrumbily at the sight of the tove, which she had only seen once before in an "At Large" poster (reward $500). She reached for a net.
The radio crackled on, "-erwock on 3rd and Vice, noving eastward at about 5 q.p.h., requesting backup." The keeving had begun. As we all knew it would, it came to pass under a zeuline yaspberry tree under the harsh wikes and cold nantubes of a drommel trume. The sirens and the shrieks melded together to produce a chaos concerto of epic proportions, and thus endeth the second saga of the Jabberwock my beamish boy.
