Call the igers, I beat my horse with a chair but I was simply unhappy with my smile

I met a man in a bar.  His name was pokey fishbrain of love.  Pokey was interesting, but he was also unhappy. Calling a man named Igers was trouble to him and he simply could not wait for a spoon to fill his mouth with live fish that he got from the mill source on the waterline.  Mr. Fishbrain of Love was adamant that listening to catholic music fesivals healed the very essence of his troubled mind, but that was only a myth as he was really a muslim believer.  He just liked the popes hat and that is no sin.  So Pokey was busy in the business of fishing for trout in the Pacific Ocean.  He beat a horse once with a chair but it was just because he was angry at the ocean for not providing fish to his diet.  His poor horse was carrying the fish net in on his boat and there were no fish.  (He rigged the beast with a net on a rope so that he could pull in the largest load).   So that was the story of Mr. Fishbrain of Love.  But there is more.  This Mr. Igers who Mr. Fishbrain called was really a basket weaver and Mr. Igers weaved Mr. Fishbrain's nets for catching fish in the Pacific.  The nets usually lasted three weeks and then broke.  When Mr. Fishbrain had no more nets he needed Mr. Igers to make more. So Mr. Fishbrain would think "CallIgers" or as he shortened and smoothed it out to be "Calligers".  So Calligers was his code word for finding fish nets and when he was on the boat and the net broke he would say "Calligers".  Now there really is a Calligers in the universe and it is with sad truth that I inform you that the Calligers I have known was not privy to having his or her name mentioned.  This was his calling card.  He or she liked to be known as calligers.  Calligers was a man or a woman with a fetish for eating gefilte fish with the waste basket on his toe.  It was a habit that calligers did to pass the time and it really was enjoyable.  Calligers was so funny that even she or he would dance a jig when he or she ate the gefilte fish on the day of Thursday, March 10th, 2011.  It was such a fine day that Calligers sent three emails to rabbis all over the nation and asked for basket weaving advice since she or he minded a new hobby he or she wanted to learn, that of placing the gefilte fish in the basket and then eating it ad lib with the trashcan on his or her foot at this point.  I miss this calligers because he or she looked like a totem pole with a smiley face on the bottom and a frown on the top.  I think Calligers is wise and justified in his or her successful shouts of glory to Big Popeye dolls, but that was only because Calligers liked popeye with every inch of his or her existence.  Popeye was big and kicked Brutus's rear end in every time he ate the spinach. That appealed to Calligers at such a fine level of reasoning.  Popeye was the national hero and Calligers had a popeye flag embossed on his or her front yard on the circle that he lived upon.   This was fun for Calligers as passerbys would say that Calligers was "strong to the finish", but the real trouble was that Calligers never ate his or her spinach until the dog he or she owned came home late at night.  This did not bother calligers but the dog one day refused to return and there was no more dog poo in his or her yard for the duration of the following month due to the fact that the local poo collectors picked it up. No big deal, but the dog poo kept people from stealing Calligers popeye flag.  I miss Calligers because one day a fellow living in a place like Detroit visited his or her house and took her flag.  It was tough to swallow but now there was no dog, no flag and calligers no longer enjoyed the spinach.  People stopped saying the popeye slogan and calligers went raving mad.  He or she took the trash can and wore it on his or her nose and then ate the fish of the gefilte variety on Friday nights by his or herself but with the television tuned to Star Search.  Even though this was not a big deal, Calligers was a fat man with big spoons on his driveway.  The spoons attracted mice to the house since they had pork on their bowl like portions.  This was calligers trick.  He or she thought that spoons were interesting and that the mice would be a benefit to the dogs amusement.  They usually were.  But the dog never returned and truly Calligers was unhappy.  So when Calligers called to find out about basket weaving, she was referred to Mr. Igers.  Mr. Igers was unhappy becuase Mr. Fishbrain of Love wanted thirteen new nets to be made in thirty days. This was a lot for Mr. Igers.  But Mr. Igers was ok, he took Calligers phone call and calligers was satiated that she or he would get a new hobby soon.  That was not the end of the story though.  Mr. Igers tried to help Calligers with the basket before he did the nets for Mr. Fishbrain of love.  FB of L was unhappy then because his nets did not arrive until christmas the following year.  Mr. Fishbrain instead had to eat store bought fish for the duration of his lifetime until he got the nets again.  So the moral of this story is that if you have someone to clean your poo up and you want a flag to keep its shape on your life vision, don't eat gefilte fish with out your spinach.  And if you stop eating your spinach, you better get a new dog or else you will never be happy with your totem pole in your smile.  Thats all. This should have confused all of you and that is how I feel with all of Calligers real anger that I got to konw when Calligers told me to move my pocket protector from my suit and discover the gold in my furnace. I just realized that gold was never in my furnace since I had an electric furnace and that my refridgerator was really getting warm by her or him leaving its door open all night long.  Thanks ladies and gentlemen.  I miss my friend Calligers but he or she is happier now that he moved out of his home and found a luxury apartment on the moon.  Thanks.