Good Day my fine friends.

Here you see my mini and, not-too-mildly, perturbed pal who pictorial evidence shows his accused state is beyond question but the question beyond that has to be what! has brought about this festering canker?  

Well I embarked upon an investigative quest and mustered up the nerve to venture to his inflamed person and suggest that it was perhaps due in no small part to envy of my own smashing headwear that I was able to set at a number of jaunty angles in either deliberate intent or reckless, therefore a coveted, wild abandon and he was riddled with spite at his own lack of fore-sight at point of purchase with regards his own head-décor’s ability but the mutinous mite merely answered my query with a wild grimace but thankfully no tangible attack.

I further ventured and enquired was this mayhap the result of my informing him he appeared to be in need of a jolly good scrub as he had a mark of most messy type upon his persons upper left appendage.   Oh my good grief!   no!  it was a Melanoma  Oh phew!  No!  under closer scrutiny twas thankfully only a spooky metaphysical apparition upon his person in the form of a posthumous visitation of a long passed-on-person of familiar type, let me see   no!  twas not, not the Messiah or his mother nor that Marley chap,  no twas, I know! as I could see splendidly if I contorted my self 75 degrees West, twas that Marlon Brando bounder or perhaps, Oh my giddy aunt!  tis a symbol indeed to the world and his wife that you are actually the miraculous reincarnation of said Monsieur Brando   why! what a news worthy bit of tittle tattle, 
I could just visualise a hefty cash advance errm and the head lines now

Reincarnated Wild One proclaims I am my own Godfather and desire this street bike which I for some inexplicable reason name Stella. 

Oh this was undoubtedly a tale of as much eebie-jeebie creepiness as that old spooky plot The Monkeys Paw.    Oh!    Oh!   Oh!  I shouldn’t have even harboured a thought or made an uttererance of the Monkeys Paw, it gives me the willies and is sure to manifest now.

Well all this incessant banter brought about an inflammation to his already kindled fury as it transpired the mess was none of these but a self-applied insignia of patriotic and rebellious type proclaiming to all and sundry, in particularly any buffoon, who foolishly dared to cross his path that he was born to be wild and it was proudly borne therefore twas not in any way responsible for the resultant lip-displacement of his pipped nature.

Well yours, inquisitive truly, feared such a fate as befalls curiosity-filled cat types but knew the conundrum would persistently niggle and gnaw like a ravenous rodent therefore I could no more relent on my desire to be enlightened than I could give up the pastime of woo.

Then as if by divine intervention the enlightenment was thrust upon me in a jiffy, the gruesome gurn was nothing more than the result of a twice-around-the-block treat, straddled up-front on his proud pops metallic beast of a bike-type machine with no doubt both parties belting out rebellious Anthems which had consequently resulted in a feast-fest of fly type and for the duration of the following two days the rebel did not only yell but did hack up a quantity of arthropods of an admirably record-breaking mass which not being Cacao, Pizza or even Cheeto derived left nought but a bitter taste, resulting in, as you evidence here, an erroneous assumption of angered attitude,
 
Well I chuckled, chortled and guffawed until the bambino bike-bound bounder growled through his chocked up chubby chops
 “Did you say something knucklehead” 

"Who Sir, Me Sir, no Sir I was merely coughing up an Oreo and then I legged it like a Bat out of Hell from this Wild One and if you dear reader have partaken in a peruse of many of my blogs you will no doubt know that it indeed appears I was Born to Run, perhaps far too often.