The Sudden Death of Mr. T.S. Alexis

The Black Iron Kebbels stood tall over Mr. R.J. Kestler, as though it were a strong, tall woman. This woman was not your typical titties 'n milk mother, though, not by any means. She was in fact an imposing, chilling meanie. The building was constructed of iron extracted from the blood of purebred black cats (these cats had no white patches, believe you me!) Throughout the premises were laced the thought "These Iron towers, They're to be the death of me!"
This thought, of course, thoroughly enthused Mr. Kestler, who, although having undergone a rather "liberal" education in college (Thompson Island Business University), was a cold, heartless, shrewd dealer at heart. He sympathized with the emotionless and fear-inducing image the building presented. This is evidenced by the following conversation with his erstwhile encumberance, Laury Herdenbrurger.
"R.J., why don't you ever take out the garbage when I ask you to!?!?" said Kestler's unfortunate fixture.
"Pluto's jumpers! Lemme getta loada this here work, Johnny!" replied the important and thoughtful Kestler.
"George Q.B. Kestleman (her pet name for him), you come take this garbage out right now!"
"I've this important communique to write for my counterpart in the Former Soviet Republic of Belgium," hoping to pull one over on the (presumably) uneducated Joanie (Kestler often forgets Laury's name. For immersement, I will do the same).
"Shoobie doobie blunt, catcher in the blunt," ended Jublee."
Hopefully this doubtful excerpt from Kestler's personal life will help to shed some light on Kestler's character.
After Kestler's first impression with the Black Iron Kennel, he was approached by several nosy (denoting the fact that they were dogs with long snouts) security guards. One introduced himself as Kenneth Hezzlejew the third. The other, Kestler intuited was to be called Flabbergaster the Firedog.
Kestler, a well-known lover of dogs, made passionate love to each dog in turn, then both together in a rather smooth menagerie a trois. This act brought him into the viscous cycle that eventually lead to an awful fate for him and everyone around him.
For, at that very moment, the woman at the head of the Black Iron Kennel, Flisty McMysjacobs (the j is pronounced as a Y here, so the pronunciation would be something like "Mickmissyacubs"). Lustful Flisty watched with awe at Kestler's passion and skill. She respected Kestler’s physical prowess, but she was filled with anger by his actions.
Without hesitation, she rose from her seat overlooking the premises of the Black Iron Dog Kennel and flew down on the wings of thirty thousand undead bluebirds. At once she unleashed her hidden hipster, who took the fight to Kestler. Kestler was bowled over by the hipster’s sudden onslaught, but fought back valiantly. However, he was quite undermatched against his hip foe. Launching one last donkey kick to the hipster’s soft underside, he fled the alley in haste.
Lubels the woman stood frighteningly above the doorstep as Kestler crept thoughtfully home. She was worried, worried as a son of a bitch. Kestler hadn’t taken this long to come home since he was a boy with short legs.
Finally, Kestler, bloodied and bellyful, crept into Korplie’s waiting soft expectant flesh. They embraced.
“Oh my hezzlebelt, bristlies!” cried the upset Wendy.
“[Kestler attempts to speak, but is unable to make meaningful sounds]”
Keslter continued gurgling and Ayisha resumed her soft mother-noises.
As they cried in each other’s arms, the personified abstract concept of consumerism entered the room. It had been staying with Kestler for a few weeks, as its dad had kicked it out of the house. The two had gone to university together, and had been good friends. Now, however, it was starting to get on Kestler and Laury’s nerves, and she had been pestering him for months to kick it out. Kestler still had a soft spot for the poor guy, though. May this be the straw that breaks the Jubel’s back, as they say?
Consumerism looked pretty embarrassed as it walked in and saw the two embracing, Kestler bleeding profusely. It walked awkwardly and stiffly to the refrigerator and got a Coke. “I was just, uh. . .gettin’ a coke. I’ll be on me way, then. . .” It audibly let the sentence trail off into the void, as noted by the ellipses.
This seemed to have no immediate effect on the mourners, but it had worked itself dangerously into July’s subconscious.