Super Scooter
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- Joined
- Dec 17, 2002
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-The Fraggle Cave-
It was a Saturday. The kind of Saturday that you might find preceding a Sunday. It was raining the rain of a thousand rains as if one. That is to say, a light drizzle. The sun shone bright, though it was blocked from earth's view by a thick layer of clouds, as clouds are often present when it is raining. But none of that matters, for the Fraggles live in caves.
It was late. So late, it was early. No longer a Saturday, but a Sunday. You wouldn't have known unless it were told. That night, or morning as the liberal media would have you believe it to be, was cold. Cold and stale. Cold and stale and moldy. It was bread. The kind of bread you feed to birds. Or pigeons, as it were. ... Yes, pigeons.
Pigeons, as you know, are far more intelligent than cranberries, making them an unlikely candidate for a turkey dinner's side dish. One pigeon in particular, one named Bernice, was particularly gifted in the "I.Q." area, and was even offered a lifetime membership to the "International Quails Club," until they realized she was not a walrus.
Bernice, in her efforts to become a walrus, journeyed to Liverpool. Liverpool, as you may be surprised to discover, was not named for Sam and Friends star Chicken Liver. Rather named for an unfortunate accident involving, you guessed it, spools of liver. Spools of liver was an experimental dish, devised in the kitchen of an unfortunate looking Swede from Japan.
This unfortunate looking Swede from Japan, as he will be referred to from here on, was named Tom. A chef, not by definition or title, but by the simple fact that no one is going to deny an unfortunate looking Swede from Japan the right to call himself one. And so, this unfortunate looking Swede from Japan went by the title "One."
One, as it turns out, is the loneliest number that you ever knew. As one attempts the mathematically impossible task of counting to this treacherous number, thoughts of thunder and bats are aroused. One might even cause one to resort to the abacus or calculator abandoned in pre-school where such tools became obsolete. But the Count... the Count knows. By some sort of witchcraft, the Count knows the precise formula used in counting to one.
"One! One Fraggle cave! Ah, ah, ah, ah!"
And so we return to that Fraggle cave. That mysterious place of mystery where mysterious things happen. Where the outside world of rain, days, exclusion, nationality and numbers are abandoned and unknown, and replaced... with fun.
And so, we end our story with this. A lone, green frog against a plain background as he wonders...
"What the heck was that?"