Month: May 2010

The angry mob of flies marched across the countryside, destroying everything in sight. Fortunately for the non fly populous, due to poor lighting conditions everything in sight consisted of a dead tree stump and one of the flies’ own houses. Such matters did no deter the angry mob, they kept on marching towards the dim glow of civilization over the hill. However when they reached the peak they discovered that the glow originated not from civilization but from their own torches being help by future versions of themselves. The flies past selves conferred with their future selves and determined the best course of action would be to send the future versions ahead while the other group waited for their past versions to arrive (this was mostly determined by the future flies shouting “we’re older, thus listen to us!”). With the minor distortion to the space time continuum cleared up the future flies continued their pillagious march down the far side of the Mound of Temporal Anomalies! becoming ever closer to fulfilling their malicious intents of revenge and desire for chocolate dipped water.*
“Wait!” wailed Cobbler “Couldn’t we resolve this minor grievance without resorting to such ancient forms of barbarism?”
“Whatever do you mean there Cobbler?” inquired a well aged English looking fly “We were just aboot to stop in for a spot of crickolo**”
“What happened to the plot to punish the people for practically pushing use past alliterative possibilities?”
“Less alliterative possibilities? Surely such a savage scenario would result in storage in synapses.” Suddenly such a realization sunk in. “The truth you doth speak, to battle henceforth!”
And thus Cobbler fulfilled his destiny of restoring the tickle and ushering in an age of darkness, despair and laughter; for the second time this week!
The mob continued now with renewed determinations and re-lit torches towards the actual dim glow of civilization coming from the nearest pickle-purchasing place with torches held aloft chanting various war cries such as:
“Down with flooding, out with water!”
“Dis-tractors are devious!”
“Where’s my luggage?”
And so with much enthusiasm and a little confusion the mob loomed closer and closer to the ever diminishing dimness of light. As the mob grew close they saw the flowing sign:

Sadly due to the surrounding dimness the flies could only manage to decipher the anti-floral announcement. And so having received no message to deter them (all their flowers had been destroyed in the flood) the mob of angry and mildly inconvenienced flies moved onwards past the dim glow and into the light of the

*Cobbler’s mind tends to regress when under stress; in this case his mind is now running in the medieval ages.

With a flash of nauseating puce, Migraine Man staggered in carrying de-toasted dog stuffed into a frosted water bottle. Once again Migraine Man had saved the day using his amazing possession of power of painful pressure present on places placed over potatoes (i.e. brains).
“Greetings mere mortal flies, normal flies and the occasional immortal fly” boomed Migraine Man “I have brought back your stolen items and restored this land back to a state of peace, prosperity and putrid stench.” At this Migraine Man descended amidst the flies cheers and hoorays handing out the reclaimed spoils of the war that was not a war, but rather an armed robbery, without the arms. “However I must hasten off to my hideout, the Headache Hovel, Huzzah!.”
“Who was that terribly mysterious masked fly?” Fred asked around. “Indeed, I think that Migraine Man can completely solve several persistent problems of ours!”
“Foolish Fred,” Robert retorted “Migraine Man didn’t dispose of old Gooda Gustav judiciously just to torture us using his horribly pathetic-problem-solving skills! We watched how his supposed skills destroyed dozens of our favorite farms!”
“Really Robert?” Fred fumed “I irrationally thought that Gooda Gustav wasn’t wasteful, uninformed, uneducated, bean-brained…”
“Hey Migraine Man was trying his best!” interjected Cobbler who had mysteriously and suddenly appeared after Migraine man suddenly and mysteriously disappeared.
“Migraine Man certainly could have handled things tons better, but he hardly tried” Timothy said “shouldn’t he have made modifications to that Migraine Man name? Nothing could confuse more multitudes of ordinary people.”
“What are you talking about? Migraine Man’s derives his name form the same place he derives his power” Cobbler cried “Migraine sounds a lot like migration, and birds migrate and everyone knows that ‘birds of a feather flock together’ and a feather is what he uses to tickle people”
“Wait!” Wally exclaimed “Everyone fully forgot how helpless everyone effectively becomes because of old-fashioned feathers! Quick we must cast of this silly speech pattern and head to the chicken coops, a feather for every fly and the world is ours!” At this Wally and the others rushed towards the farms gathering all the flies from the village forming a mob full of flies carrying torches, feathers and the occasional flaming feather.
“Forsooth, alack and alas!*” Cobbler wailed “We shan’t revolt against our masters, it doth not be right, nay it doth not even be left, it doth be an affront and abomination to all mankind it doth be a disgrace for all that we stand for!”
“But we are tsetse flies not men.” protested a random fly “so who cares what mankind thinks.”
“Alas ‘tis true, such logic cannot be bested by word or sword. Avast let loose the feather of WAR!”

While Cobbler’s village was drying out the grand overseeing council of tsetse fly met to listen to what Cobbler had discovered. The rest of the tsetse flies in the village went to work cleaning out that nasty taste of wet drywall which tasted like dry wet-wall and the dirt was all muddy. The flies developed a mixture or frozen water and melted ice that would alleviate the problems but it would wear out and the problems would return.
Suddenly from over the hill came an almost familiar sound. It sounded like a tractor or two but there was a strange sound that made it hard to tell what it was. The other sound seemed to come from somewhere else, it was so distracting that nobody noticed when two tractors appeared over the horizon and rolled into the fly’s village.
“Vahoy!” Cried the person on the tractor who may or may not sound like Gustav Da Gooda, “I have come to peddoole my wares and wear some poodles. I have come to show off my new and improoved tractors. Take a look at dis tractor” at this the person jumped off his normal looking tractor and pointed towards a very abnormal looking tractor, it had bells with whistles and whistles with bells all sorts of twings and deets. “Va, dis tractor is amazing it’s got big wheels, it’s got bigger wheels, it’s even got dis amazing internool comboostion engine dat makes things go ka-booma! It doth be vay better dan dat tractor over there” gesturing towards and even more no-descript tractor that looked exactly like a normal tractor, except for a diabolical looking man wearing a name tag that said “Hello my name is: not a robber”.
As all the flies “ooohed” and “wowed” over the amazing automatic dog-buttering and global spiciness indicator. They were so enthralled with it’s de-flossing attachment that they didn’t notice that dat tractor was roaming around the village pillaging and pilfering everything it could reach. And the flies were certainly to preoccupied watching dis tractor and it’s self cleaning de-toaster to see dat tractor leaving with everything but the kitchen sink (being tsetse flies sanitation is not highly sought after and thus indoor plumbing is not an amenity in most every tsetse fly village house). Suddenly dis tractor exploded in a spectacular display of color, sparks and slightly flossed, toasted buttered dogs (which increased the spiciness of the world by 3). The explosion caused such dense smoke and butter that the flies couldn’t even see their houses. After the smoke cleared and the butter mostly solidified the flies realized that they couldn’t see their houses because their houses weren’t there!
“Gasp” cried a fly, “they took my automatic dog flosser!”
“Nooo! they got my self frosting water bottle maker!” cried another.
“Not my automatic de-toasting machine” whined a third.
“Have no fear!! Migraine Man is here!” boomed a voice that sounded obviously not like Cobbler. “Up up and away…ow my head!”

*Cobbler was a member of Thy Old English Club in high school and thus able to converse in old English
**Cobbler had ran out of things to say in old English but had plenty to say as a pirate
^Not available at really big city for $9π/7

The tsetse flies were saved from their inability to sleep and immediately celebrated by sleeping though the entire day of Jumpbary. Throughout the village cobbler could hear the sounds of sleeping flies, the calmed breathing, the loud snoring, and the gurgling and choking of flies drowning in the rising waters. Cobbler suddenly realized something was amiss, why were the screams and cries of flies talking in their sleep? Cobbler realized another thing, he was standing in a foot of water (the lack of sleep has made Cobbler a bit slow). Cobbler needed to warn the all the sleeping flies but how could he? They were all asleep and it would be rube for him to wake them all up just to tell them not to drown, but on the other hand it would be a bit rube to let them all die. Cobbler decided that he would consult the book of random rudeness.

‘When at someone else’s house for dinner, it is rude to raid the fridge using an air strike force, however a land or sea one is not.’

Seeing as a sea strike force is considered to be polite Cobbler decided that he would not wake up the flies as he would be interfering with the actions of the polite water.
“Ye olde BWAHAHA!!!” screamed a surprisingly sophisticated sounding voice “Thy vile strongholds of mass art no match for the immense constitutional properties of this water!”
“Forsooth it doth be Puddenhead” cried Cobbler* “Thy vile tricks shall come to no avail!”
“Oh Ye of little intellectual standing” retorted Puddenhead “You are a blind follower of the evil gravity and thus I pay you no heed. Thine words are bold but thy allegiance is misplaced, for gravity doth be the most vile thing of all creation! It doth go against the very core of what is right and thus must be eliminated post hast!”
“Avast ye scurvy lawyer**!” exclaimed Cobbler “You are just here to plunder and pillage, all in the name of saving our village!”
“Thy rhyme is impressive but thy argument is not, do you not know the reasons for my actions? The forces of gravity are indeed still strong, although the destruction of the earth hath weakened it. There still resides a stronghold of vile gravity in this place and thus it must be defeated. In order to do this noble deed I decided to use the vile force against itself, I shall cover the gravity with water that will weight down on it and crush it into oblivion.” And with that Puddenhead pulled out a big box of dehydrated water^ and dumped it into the rising flood waters, causing it to flood faster.
“Arr, ye trickery will be tolerated no more, I challenge ye to a duel, TO THE DEATH (or a really bad side ache)” At this Cobbler pulled out his emergency medieval lawyer versus pirate tsetse fly dueling kit.
“Thy words boast of valor but thy appearance tells a different story. I accept thy challenge but shall warn thee that you shall fall prey to my superior skill, FORSOOTH!!” at this Puddenhead charged screaming at Cobbler with such force that Cobbler though about running, but then he looked down at his emergency dueling kit and something caught his eye. It was a soft fluffy looking feather and suddenly Cobbler remembered something, he had left his oven on, but then he remembered that he didn’t even own an oven, and then he remembered what he had really remembered, the tickle! (hehe ho hoo hap) Cobbler whipped out that feather and promptly tickled Puddenhead to death (or a really bad side ache). With the demise of Puddenhead (or his intense abdominal discomfort) the vile waters receded until they were needed again to do the bidding of a nefarious gravity hater (or maybe they just went for an early lunch). Cobbler rushed back to his village to save them from drowning and to show them of the amazing discovery he had remembered to discover.

*4 out of 5 Davids agree that French words have too many unnecessary letters.
**A Ted is a unit of work approximately equal to the amount of work that Ted can do which is equal to 21.58 kJ according to Hibbeler 247

The grand overseeing council of the tsetse flies (consisting of a crazy old fly and the very wise voice in his head) can up with two plans for fixing the problem of trying to sleep with the constant Canadian that Blockflöten had directly caused, but was also indirectly caused by Cobbler, one which involved hurling him into the sea and hope that he finds his was to Canada (Eh? Eh? Eh? Eh?) where he would be integrated into their society and become a contributing member of the aforementioned society in Canada, the other, being one which involved using extremely long run-on sentences, caused an extensive debate on how in the world this could actually work, as a run-on sentence dose nothing but seriously annoy the reader but usually has no effect whatsoever on the characters described in the sentence as they do not directly interact with the letters and words, let alone the sentences and them adhering to or ignoring the commonly accepted codes of grammar, however this sparked another controversy on whether there were any commonly accepted codes of grammar because, after all, different places have vastly different ideas on what makes a grammatically valid sentence, such as the difference between the tsetse flies, who insist on the presence of a subject and verb as opposed to the French who insist that for a series of words to be a sentence at least 50% of the letters must be unnecessary*, luckily the mention of French brought the topic of conversation to countries that speak French and then to Canada which got the discussion back to how to solve the previously mentioned problem of sleeping under the influence of Canada which led back to the question whether a run-on sentence could have any influence on the people described in the previously mentioned sentence, however this discussion was interrupted by some crazy fly who was somehow convinced that they were currently living in a run-on sentence and that they would cease to exist when the period came and ended the sentence, but of course this silly notion was dismissed by the flies because it was so utterly and completely nonsensical and it even made then realize that the plan to throw the Blockflöten into the ocean was also nonsensical, ridiculous, unreasonable, absurd, silly and insane but ordinary circumstances require ordinary solutions and this was no ordinary circumstance, so with out much further ado, delay or postponements (there is only a little ado left) the crazy old fly grabbed Blockflöten and threw him into the ocean accomplishing the work of .35 Teds** as the voice in his head concluded saying: “The ways of mice and flies may change like the winds but no matter what they do during the night in the morning the sea still rises.”

^mice are notorious for being bad at estimation
^^In the backside of the page, the word “police” refers to the fuzz that grows when an old bagel is dipped in chicken-flavored mud.
**Les langues officielles du Canada sont anglaises et françaises
*Canada’s official languages are English and French**
°Peter complained aboot this part, eh?
°°The hair belongs to Joe, but it’s on Cobbler’s head.

“Noo! Not the afro of…” cried Cobbler but he was interrupted by a totally random guy with a giant “Hello, my name is Joe” sticker on his back who fell out of his hair and landed on him
“Arg! How did I end up in the hair? That’s just disgusting; there were a bunch of lice taking advice from some nice mice that twice used a device that changed rice into ice-covered dice, Yeawk! I hate rhymes!” Joe (the random one) screamed and ran off into the distance, leaving Cobbler alone with the afro.
“What’s (Squeakity) wrong with (Squeak) that guy?” asked a mouse from the afro, “He started (Squeak) yelling about (SQUEAK!!) rhymes and (Squawk?) rhymeaphobia and (Squeak) having words (Squeak) close in (Squeak) one him (Squeak) or something (Squeak) like that. (Squeak)”
“Yeah, he was really (Squeak!) about the (Squeak!)” said another mouse.
“Squeak, Squeaken, Squeaked, Moo!” interjected a third.
“Wait a minute!” cried Cobbler, “how many mice are in this afro anyway?”
“Huh, that’s a tough question, mice count everything in base 5.123 so it’s really hard to count past 5, but don’t worry I estimate that there are only about 4 mice in your hair^’ reassured the first mouse.
“Well four isn’t too bad, you can stay as long as you don’t cause too much trouble.”said Cobbler said as he headed off towards his home.
The path to Cobblers home was a very dangerous one, there were massive berry-flavored lava pits with vicious banana-flavored ones hidden amongst them. After the lava was the Forest of Whoa, a forest the full of talking trees saying things like, “Whoa, my moss grows in the dark” and “Whoa, that tree just talked”. After the forest is the worst thing of all, the Caverns of Confusions, which is made up of a maze of twisty little passages, all alike. Normally, Cobbler would just fly over all these dangerous things and have a relatively easy trip. However, the extra weight of the afro and the estimated four mice weighed him down so much that he couldn’t get over the peak of the mountain. He strained and tried but he just wasn’t strong enough. And then, with his strength gone, he plummeted down towards the sharp rocky floor below him in the Caverns of Confusion.
FOOOP! (Squeak) POOOF!
Luckily for Cobbler and his band of merry mice, the giant afro happened to be very fluffy and squishy and thus it prevented the injury of everyone (except for that one mouse that was stationed at the lookout post who was turned into a pancake). Cobbler arose and looked around the cave. It was a normal-looking cave. In fact, it was a regular cave.
“Hmm, I wonder why they call this the Caves of Confusion if nothing is con – EEWW! Yuk! Yak! yew!” cried Cobbler as he tripped over a mouse-pancake, “This pancake looks like a mouse but it tastes like a pancake, that’s very confusion.” Cobbler tried to regain his composure, but, before he could, he saw the following sing.

Cobbler was greatly confused, what is a welcometo or a cavernsof? And aren’t informational display units usually called signs and not sings? Cobbler was greatly disturbed at the confusion, but he continued deeper into the caves because he was sure that was the way to get home. That certainty quietly faded as he lost his dialect and found himself in a Canadian paragraph.
“Well, how aboot that eh?” cried Cobblour “I feel like being bilingual!”* Cobblour wandered further down the tunnel but now he had some purpose, eh? He now could be used as an English-to-Canadian translator to speak to the migrant-pickling labour forces imported from the East, eh?
“Alors, qu’est-ce qui c’est que ça?” Cobblour a crié. “J’ai envie
d’être bilingue!” Cobblour a erré dans le tunnel, mais avec quelque but
maintenant. On peut l’utiliser comme traducteur anglais-canadien, pour
parler aux ouvriers migrants qui faisait les conserves au vinaigre°
Cobbler shuddered as he escaped from the Canadian paragraph. Who knows what would have happened if he had been there longer? Luckily, he seemed to have escaped with no adverse affects.
“Gasp!” Unluckily cried a mouse from Joe’s hair°° “Blockflöten the German exchange mouse is acting really weird”
“To…much…Canada…eh?…eh?…Eh?…eH?…eh?” Screamed Blockflöten “Eh?…eh?…Ca-na-ni-DA!…eh?…EH??”
Luckily Cobbler never cared for the mice in Joe’s hair anyway, unluckily Blockflöten wouldn’t be (eh?..eH?…He??…Eh?…how aboot that? Eh? Eh? Eh?) quiet. Luckily Cobbler had some Earploogs of Silence from Gustav Da Gooda himself! “Unlookily, I, Gustav Da Gooda, must take my Earploogs of Silence back.”

Luckily Cobbler found his was back home, unluckily Blockflöten’s condition kept the flies from sleeping. Luckily, Cobbler ran out of chapter, thus ending the lucky and unlucky things early.