On Safairy with Whide Hunter

In the jumble...the mighty jumble... Whide Hunter sleeps tonight.
At the foot of the bed, Otumba kept wogs for poisonous snacks such as the deadly cobbler and apply python.
Little did he nose that the next day in the early owls of the morecombe, a true story would actually happen.
Otumba awoke him with a cup of teeth, and they lit up toward the jumble.
'Aint dat Elepoon Pill?' said Wipe Hudnose, 'wearing his new Basuti?'
'Could be the Flying Docker on a case.'
'No, he's walking,' said Otumbad in Swahily which is not arf from here as the crow barks. All too soon they reached a cleaner in the jumble and set up cramp.
Jumble Jim, whom shall remain nameless, was slowly but slowly asking his way through the underpants, (underware he was being washed by Whide Hungry.)
'Beat the bus, Otumba,' commanded Wheat Hoover.
'No! but mable next week it will be my turn to beat the bus now standing at platforbe nine.'
Jumping Gym, who shall remain norman, spotted Whit Monday and the Barking Doctorine shooting some rhinostrils and hippoposthumous and Otumbark.
'Stop shouting those animoles.' Bud it hab no influence upod them. They carried on shotting alligarters, wild boats, garriffes, lepers and Uncle Tom Cobra and all... Old Buncle Ron Gobble and all... Bold Rumple, Bom Dobby and all... Bad Runcorn, Sad Toddy and all.