When confronted this morning by a gnome of significant proportions
my suspicions were confirmed, impolitely (by the seven centimeter toll keeper),
that the regular troll, Conrad, was in fact ill—suffering a seven magnitude
tummy ache that not only demolished the three Burroughs of Monsterton,
but also cracked the foundation of el Ravenous Flower Abutment and drained
the Rancid Swamp of its entire reservoir.
In the general scheme of things maybe infrastructural woes seemed trivial,
but the calamity compounded odiously due to a doubling of the bridge toll
and the gnome of significant proportions gnashing madly on my
gimpy maladjusted left big toe—a serious social faux pas, as us citified
Sasquatch take criticism badly and don't normally wear pockets (or trousers).
Unfortunately my continued partnership with Hairy, Hairy and Sons appears in doubt,
as standard monster conventions now restrict my movements to this specific
locale where I must for now reside, demanding a crossing tax until a suitable
replacement is found; at least until Conrad's low temp spikes again...
...and Main Street is fortified against subsequent troll emanations.
Happily my acquisition papers have filed successfully and a request for
replacement i-pod ear buds looks to be a go, the most recent pair lost,
entwined deeply about the neck of a gnome of significant proportions
and trebuche'd into orbit—
I exaggerate.
my suspicions were confirmed, impolitely (by the seven centimeter toll keeper),
that the regular troll, Conrad, was in fact ill—suffering a seven magnitude
tummy ache that not only demolished the three Burroughs of Monsterton,
but also cracked the foundation of el Ravenous Flower Abutment and drained
the Rancid Swamp of its entire reservoir.
In the general scheme of things maybe infrastructural woes seemed trivial,
but the calamity compounded odiously due to a doubling of the bridge toll
and the gnome of significant proportions gnashing madly on my
gimpy maladjusted left big toe—a serious social faux pas, as us citified
Sasquatch take criticism badly and don't normally wear pockets (or trousers).
Unfortunately my continued partnership with Hairy, Hairy and Sons appears in doubt,
as standard monster conventions now restrict my movements to this specific
locale where I must for now reside, demanding a crossing tax until a suitable
replacement is found; at least until Conrad's low temp spikes again...
...and Main Street is fortified against subsequent troll emanations.
Happily my acquisition papers have filed successfully and a request for
replacement i-pod ear buds looks to be a go, the most recent pair lost,
entwined deeply about the neck of a gnome of significant proportions
and trebuche'd into orbit—
I exaggerate.
