Tongue Twisters (From K to Q)

(Sarcastic smart-alecks cart Sarkozy’s cozy carcass across the charcoal carpet.)

Kurt Kildare kisses Kim Kobayashi’s kangaroo-koala kaleidoscope of a kimono, killing kipper-kicking kinetic kamikazes in kitschy kilts as kleptomaniacal klutzes kvetch and put the kibosh on Kilimanjaro Kay’s Kevin Costner collection.

Lubriciously lovable Lucinda lucidly launched licked lollipops lasciviously at lolly-gagging laggards, Lotharios, landlubbers, and lackadaisical lepidopterists.  “Listen, Lucinda,” lisped Larry Lincoln, the Lilliputian librarian, “Lemon linen lanes lead to laudable lodestones.”  Likely to laugh, Lucinda lobbed a leopard at Lionel’s lapel (luckily, the light-footed lad lunged left).

Margaret murdered Marvin marvelously, mincing the man’s merry mass with a miraculously accurate machete.  Morose, Margaret moped meekly, mulling over the misbegotten mess the misanthropic maiden had made.  “Mercy!” Margaret muttered, mumbling a medley of melancholy melodies as Mr. Marcus Martin microscopically moped over the mystery, mystified by Margaret’s malicious mastery and meretricious mendacity.

Nicky Nixon never naysaid nihilists, negatively nice to nugatory necrophiles.  Nicky nudged necessary newspapers, naphthalene nectarines, and nylon nooses.  Needing nookie, Nicky neighed at nearby neighbors, narcissistically napping and nipping at the nitrogen-nibbled night.

Oscar osculated Ophelia ostentatiously, obviously operating on the opera-opener’s often orange organization.  “Oh, Oliver!  Often odd,” Ophelia opined with orchestrated optimism, oracular as an opprobrious orangutan.

Percival Perry, the persnickety periodontist, periodically perceived people’s pain, poking purulent passages perspicaciously.  “Please persist,” Percival prodded, pleasantly plotting the patient’s palate and planning to play pool with pals Paul and Penelope in a Pittsburgh pizza parlor peopled with purple popes and pregnant Pekingese puppies.

Quentin quietly quotes quixotic questions, quelling Queequeg’s quilt, quickly quieting Captain Queeg’s querulous quietus, quaffing quarts of quinine in a quiescent quagmire of quahogs.

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