Most peculiarly of most things was that I thought all of this very fishy, daudry, drab, and boresome. This is where I turn on the second table lamp...

In a muster I arrived to the home of my aunt, where at once she drew me into the back of the house, down a flight of stairs made of tusk and bone into a catacomb where she kept a alive collection of wooly mammoths. She said the upkeep wasn't awfully horrendous as she had an invisible backdrop which led to a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe sort of thing. I stood in the gangway behind 10 foot high thigh bones waiting for one of the monstrous red beasts to come greet me, but what arrived was a very large elephant with longer tusks than usual. None of the red sillyness which I had dreamt of seeing in my previous years.

She could see I was not that impressed, and so I was led to another part of her home. Around the corner walked in my uncle in is superb and luxurious dress, reminiscent of 18th century British military fatigues. He said, "I bought the E.T. ride from Universal Studios, but as bringing the whole ride to my home I had them adapt a more suitable version to fit the property. A hangar opened and inside there were four chariots of orange and blue, diamond shaped school buses with their undersides aimed at withholding a V-shaped street. Then in two and two single file order all the classmates of my K-12 years arrived and took seat into the strappings of this 'ride' we were to take. Music played, John Williams even was produced by hologram, and after the ups and downs for several minutes we arrived to what I thought would inevitably be the forest, but rather was what I perceived was a Finnish town. The chariot I was in was stuck in the street, mud, rain, and soot entrenched us. I unbuckled the polyester straps and when I stood I realized that though the seats had built in urinals and toilets they were utterly noiseome to the senses. I followed a local girl to a food mart where I asked how I could find where I was but no one spoke a drop of English.

I corraled the group and told them to wait for me. I followed this girl who seemed quite younger than I to a small apartment in the uppermost floor of a very unsturdy chapel-like home several suburban blocks from our ride. She immediately removed her pants and I saw with my very own eyes that she was hairless and nubile. She insisted that we have a ****, and after I caressed her and complained too that she was far too young, she insisted that the age of consent in Germany was actually 13 yet she was 16. I remember it clearly. The most gigantuous feelings of pleasure as I mended a studio closet for my dining room furniture inside her ripening channel. Eventually after an hour we finished, she offered me a towel and some biscuits, which I consumed joyously.

Upon leaving her home I remembered that she had said we were in Germany, and so I produced a measure of Deutsch that I had been saving in my repetoir for the right moment. As Finnish is not my strongest language I was pleased of this and became instantly popular among the other candidates of our journey. This  E.T. ride is far different than  I remember it having been. Moments later I awoke quickly, a tuft of her black hair on my eiderdown comforter and a veil of tears from the merriment of glee shrouded over my face. After I rolled and balled into the soft feathers of my bedding, I twisted myself again into a knot, and allowed myself to rejoin the soporific treatice I was aiming for.

This is now where I turn off both lamps and go on watching films of a similar style.

Wishing You The Very Best,

Sir Martin Narrod

I keep my family of conscience
I shred my folly of heir
In case of torment or fondness
I never wear underwear.

Once upon a twilight tingle, under the moonlit stars' twinkle

Such a foul fowl, 'tis only a foul owl

"What brings you here on this most auspacious night of nights?" I asked

The task it brought, I knew not, I merely cowered, as it did growl

I, with my guitar in hand, hastely jumped upon the warm sand, tipping, and tripping upon my towel,


As the Owl, with it's luminous eyes, began to tread the now seemingly still and chilled soil,

The ocean's roar slowly died down

t'was not the only sound that began to silence itself

even the pestilent winds around us fell idle to the ground

My reverberating heartbeat now the only audible sound


Fear finally finding sanctum in thoughts of logic

Think my man, think strategic, for this is what you now can do

Afright, now simple curiousity

No necessity was it, t'was a simple question i began to skew,

"what is your name, you obnoxious creature you?"

The now appearing invisible predator corraled the picture on the back of my guitar and flew, cawwing merely once calmly "Who are you?"

As he arose from the whirlwind of ash, he wondered what it was that

had actually happened. The last thing he remembered was that he had

fallen off the edge of the frail olive branch, everything covered in

flames. As he came plumeting down, he was corraled out of the air by a

dove. This dove, with her lush, white feathers glistening above the fire

that had engulfed the land, had brought him to her olive branch, but

much like his own olive branch, hers too began to split, and combust. It

was as though everything that he touched died. He despised it. The

dove comforted him, telling him, that they merely havn't found their

olive branch. "It's not necessary to be born into the olive branch to

which you belong." said she. so they searched on and on. To this day,

they search. He had found half of himself, the day the dove came from

above, but alas, he has yet to find the other half. For she is Immortal

Dove, and he only a mere idea, however every idea may perhaps have

the potential to become immortal, depending entirely upon what it is

nurtured with, and the perspective behind it.