Dinner bell Jacket the Hard nose plier salesperson

I have an acquaintance in life who calls himself "Dinner Bell Jacket". Dinner Bell was a man of strength of mind and health of body. He lived alone in a fabulous house in a prairie that smelled like cupcakes and gold. It was such a beautiful prairie that he wore a photograph of it on his shirt. It was nice and people did not mind Dinner Bell's company, but the truth was that Dinner Bell was really suffering immensely from a lost love. In 1984, Dinner Bell lost his prized bee collection when a tornado skimmed his parries edge. This incensed Dinner Bell in such a way that there was truly a good name that he did not like and that was of the man Mr. Tornado who was his best friends son and his best friends daughter combined. It was testy for Mr. Dinner Jacket to meet with Mr. Tornado because his name itself reminded Mr. Dinner Bell of the terrible outcome of that nasty storm some 14 years before. It was just that simple. Mr. Tornado had to pay for Mr. Dinner Jacket's lost bee collection. So Mr. Dinner Jacket sent Mr. Tornado a piece of humble pie that was adorned with pie crusts that smelled like lost poetry and looked like happy characters from a Stephen King novel. It was a beautiful move and actually Mr. Tornado liked it so much that he spilled beer all over Mr. Dinner Jackets new bee collection. I think that Mr. Dinner Jacket really meant to sent Mr. tornado a book of poetry about ham sandwiches and that would have nauseated Mr. tornado intelligently as Mr. Tornado loved his pet pigs. I like to say that Mr. Tornado was a fine clothes sales person but that he really liked to dine on caviar and eat latkes by the fireside. Mr. Dinner Bell never got to know Mr. Tornado's true preferences and Mr. Dinner Bell lived to be one hundred years old without ever really meeting Mr. Tornado who was truly a strange fellow that only seemed like a butter dish salesperson to Mr. Dinner Bell. So I am sorry to say that fortunately for Mr. Tornado, there was no more butter to sell, but for Mr. Dinner Bell, there was a shortage of butter to butter his pancakes. Mr. Dinner Bell misses Mr. Tornado once a year when he writes his novel of hate vendettas, but Mr. Tornado missed Mr. Dinner Bell once a decade when he writes his comedy album about treaties that were meant to be broken by a fair mind that did not eat dinner well and really liked to keep his poetry interests to himself. So be well, Mr. Dinner Jacket, Mr. Tornado is out playing golf and he likes to stomp on bees on the golf course once a day. Thanks for your pie crust surprise too, Mr. Dinner Jacket, Mr. Tornado shared it with me and I really liked the Stephen King scare show you wanted to issue in your graces of God. Thanks!