ese islands. But never will we attempt to c

I'm halfway done, Jenni

atch cricket balls. That'd mean we'd be good at c

ooking raw potatoe, which just isn't r

aw carrots. But then the resident coo

ly stated, "I don't want to da

nce!" Although I can't ima

gine why he would want to dance, seeing as he was as talented as the giant sq

ueemish manchester player. Anyway, on the other side of the p

lanet, a unicorn was seen st

Anthony's garden, causing mayhem in the pe

lican enclosure of the near-by z

ebra's natural hab

itat, snacking on ro

tten fish and enjoying the view. No one would have ever believed what had happened ne

xt when the zebra sh

ushed the llama. But then again, it isn't important, so we'll just sk

ulk back to the main idea of the plot, which was by far the od

d entity of the cen

tury. Wait, where were we? Oh, yes, the zebra then took off and headed towards no

ticing and observing how its own shadow symbolised a single incandescent beaon of subjective reality in a netherworld of endless absurdity reaching toards a maudlin cosmos of nothingness. Then, i


sorry, just feeling wordy for some strange reason...

t had to take a moment because its brain was overloaded with all of the SAT words running through it. There, now it was ready to continue on its quest and se

ek fame and glo

ry from its many ad

vertisments. But this was not the en

d, nor was it the beginning. It is more commonly know as the mi

rror. This 'mirror' thing can be explained by m

eddlesome kids and their great dane as they drive around in their van looking for ghosts and trying to prove that ghosts really do not ex

ercise. They felt wordy themselves, and it was a small girl named Thelma who wrote most of the reports on the strange happenings from the various sites upon which ghosts and spirits were apparently se

cretly checking in on the leader of the c

lan's second cousin twice removed's d

og, which was also a great dane, and they found out that is was h

onut, the same which was digested by a greedy worm when it was thrown in the bi

rdhouse. Not wanting to co

nf

(yes, I'm stopping mid-way through a word I was finishing!)

irm that thought (and what exactly is a "honut"?), he then r

evealed that a honut was, indeed, a w

orm's left over donut. Are you hungry yet? Me too. To continue with the story, the worm then di

sappeared. What a continuation, don't you think? Neither do I. Then, some sarcasm wa

fted by and smacked the main character, whomever it is now, right in the fa

mous town square named "W

allyworld." "Ouch!" he or she exclaimed as it continued on towards the sq

uarely-shaped ci

rcular track, where 43 drivers were racing at 300 miles per hour, always turning left. Our protagonist ran maddingly across the track, trying not to get run over by a ca

ctus plany. He failed miserably, though, as he did f

ly through the air with the greatest of ease with 24 cactus thorns sticking out of his bu

tane-based chemical. But h

e still landed on his bu

ilding's roof, desperately trying to stay sa

ne in this ever-troublesome wor

m's belly, which was pretty slimy, t