Wümboo felt sorry for Wumboo,
who slip when he danced on the dance floor, with vodka, had to be vodka, spilled, not from a glass, from the stomach, the guts, why of course, for Wümboo was the culprit, only that he was too drunk to know, but he felt sorry, because both Wümboo and Wumboo wasted the alcohol.
Wumboo felt happy for Wümboo,
who teased him, while Wumboo was on the floor, and Wümboo looked very tall, for he was always so short, but now he grew taller, suddenly, and so Wumboo was happy for him, and he thought for a second, how strange, that everyone grew taller as well.
Wümboo and Wumboo were, both dancing, to a melody, remixed in patches of Brazilian flavour, but had a confusing scratching to it, so much so, that the spinning of the track, was synonymous with their own head spinning.
It didn't matter, and as a matter of fact, they both soon found out, they were both lying on the floor, dancing quietly to shifting phantasms, tunes resembling Hindi and Muslim, and had a Japanese pop percussion to it, that went, easily mistaken as a siren, while visually, a blue and red pyschedelic looping reel, approaching them, under the full moonlight.
Who are you?
Wümboo Wumboo.
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