Again Arthur
awoke after Alice. After
abruptly attacking his aging
alarm-clock, Arthur arose,
alive and
animated.
Awaiting
another arduous August, Arthur
advanced into the
arid arboretum.
Arthur Alphons was an ardent, astute and audacious attendant at the Anachronistic Arboretum, an arboretum of ancient and arcane ash, aspen, alder and arborvitae.
Arthur was an artless artisan, an admirable affable
anthromorph on an acrid archipelago. Arthur was adamant at
ameliorating the arbres, his altruistic attitude
always applauded at the arboretum. Adversly, Arthur alluded
to aphorisms and apothegms and adages, agitating
acquaintances and authority alike.
Assuaging the ailment of an askew acanthus, Arthur was
approached by an ashen advocate, and accorded an
arraignment. The authorities would not abide any attempt to
abscond, and would automatically arrest him at an agitation
of an ant's antennae.
Alas, Arthur's alias was acknowledged;
an arbitrary audit had ascertained: Arthur Alphons was,
beside a bourgeois botanist, a bluffing bilateral biped; a
beguilingly beatific Ben Brady. Ben Brady was to be
beheaded for a brazen breach of the biography bill, for
bipolarity and bipartisanship. Ben was to be bereaved of his
bulbuous boon by a blunt blade, at bedtime.
"Bye bye Ben," Beatrice and a bevy of beauteous babes bawled
and boohoo-ed, for Ben was of benevolent breed. And Ben bid
'bonne chance' and 'bonne nuit'.