And other small parasites from the Daglish System.
Today I bring you a story of intrigue, a story of daring and dashing and... more letters per word than any other story EVER WRITTEN!
2 of the above statements are lies, technically they are balls of fluff and not parasites.
The story starts one day as our protaganist rides into town. The sun gleaming off his wide brimmed hat, and his shoes dusty from the trail. His spurs spin idley while a lone tumbleweed makes the slow journey to another place in this desolute outback.
His presence here caused quite a commotion, it was a one horse town after all and that horse was quite thin and prone to wheezing so as our protaganist rode onwards into the liver of the city a crowd gathered around him.
He was aware of thier whispers:
"Who is that?"
"What is that?"
"Move, I can't see!"
"Well it is hardly my fault is it?"
"SAUSAGES INA BUN! SAUSAGES INA BUN! GET 'EM WHILE THEY'RE STILL DEAD!"
"I mean I am really just a part of the overall problem here."
"Your sausage just winked at me."
"Even if I did move and get out of your way there will still be a plethora of people in front of you blocking your view."
"SHOWS 'EM FRESH DUNIT?"
"And then I wouldn't be able to see and we would arrive at the same problem."
He rode on regardless, turned around the corner, parked his bike outside the bar and went inside for some OJ.
Monday, July 12, 2010
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