Oscar Grey blew banana-shaped pipe smoke, luring chimps with stomachs so noisy, neighbors called time out.

As the game resumed, Oscar’s hand slipped from his wrist, falling for days, till on the seventh, the hand grew a new Oscar Grey.

The new Oscar Grey twisted balloon poodles whose furs contained smaller poodles (∞), drooling out rivers where scheming men raised clumsy Jolly Rogers that occasionally dropped a bone or two like bricks from old Oscar’s old home.

Sugarcane fiber webs lured stray Oscar Greys into future entrées so exquisite, seated guests waited days.

On the seventh, Oscar folded, forfeiting his staked daughter who then fluttered so rabidly, everything collapsed.

Thereafter, no further mention of Oscar Grey was possible.