Again Arthur awoke after Alice. After abruptly attacking his aging alarm-clock, Arthur arose, alive and animated. Awaiting another arduous August, Arthur advanced into the arid arboretum.

Arthur Alphons was an ardent, astute and audacious attendant at the Anachronistic Arboretum, an arboretum of ancient and arcane ash, aspen, alder and arborvitae.

Arthur was an artless artisan, an admirable affable anthromorph on an acrid archipelago. Arthur was adamant at ameliorating the arbres, his altruistic attitude always applauded at the arboretum. Adversly, Arthur alluded to aphorisms and apothegms and adages, agitating acquaintances and authority alike.

Assuaging the ailment of an askew acanthus, Arthur was approached by an ashen advocate, and accorded an arraignment. The authorities would not abide any attempt to abscond, and would automatically arrest him at an agitation of an ant's antennae.

Alas, Arthur's alias was acknowledged; an arbitrary audit had ascertained: Arthur Alphons was, beside a bourgeois botanist, a bluffing bilateral biped; a beguilingly beatific Ben Brady. Ben Brady was to be beheaded for a brazen breach of the biography bill, for bipolarity and bipartisanship. Ben was to be bereaved of his bulbuous boon by a blunt blade, at bedtime.

"Bye bye Ben," Beatrice and a bevy of beauteous babes bawled and boohoo-ed, for Ben was of benevolent breed. And Ben bid 'bonne chance' and 'bonne nuit'.

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