Monday, Aug. 26, 2002 - 7:00 p.m.

Some of you have already read this, maybe, whatever.

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Once upon a time, in a magical fairytale land, lived a king, and his three daughters. They were all very beautiful, and were all looking for suitors, so they could have little baby royalties. Two of them were spoiled, and shouted a lot, but the less popular one, who nobody noticed, wasn't. But this, of course, has no relevance to my story, which is set in a small hut, in the city next door to the fairytale land. Dragons didn't live there, fairies never visited, and it was very dull. Bob, the farmer, farmed cows. He would breed them, take their milk for drinks, and eat their babies. Bob didn't have a very interesting name. That doesn't matter.

One day, Bob went for a walk in some woods, and went into that fairytale land place, where he met a small fairy called Dipsylalatinkywinkypo. It talked in incoherent gurgles, so he dropped a rock on its head. It made a little squeaking sound, then Bob stood on the rock, and shuffled his foot about a bit. Fairy juices leaked out the side. He put his finger down to the juice, and then licked it. It was delicious! "This is delicious!" he exclaimed, while finding the juice delicious. He thought it would make a good substitute for milk, that the people would love, and so would give him money for. Bob liked money, even though his life was fairly dull, and nothing that would last him very long could be bought with money, he liked it anyway. He was a normal person really, and couldn't understand why some poor, poor person would be writing a story about him, and stuff like that. Little did he know that the writer was trying to write lots of words, and so was going to make Bob go on a very long adventure, that might not be long at all, and could end at any minute, tragically, with Bob's painful death. Bob didn't realise the power the writer wielded, the complete control of every aspect of Bob's life. Bob was happy with his new discovery, fairy juice, it was tasty and everything. So he rushed home, and realised there weren't any fairies at home, so rushed back again and went around killing fairies with rocks and collecting their juice in a big bucket he had to carry around with him to satisfy the dairy farmer stereotype quota, and stuff, and soon he had a big sloshy bucket of dead ground up happy smiling creatures. The fairy creatures smiled a lot, and were happy, or they had been until Bob had cruelly killed them all with his rocks, and giggled, and stuff. Then Bob ran back home, avec juice, and sold it, and got horribly horribly rich. Everyone envied him, and he had lots of money. One day while he was sat around being richer than everyone else, he decided he was bored and wanted more money(because that's what rich people do) and so he went out to fairytale land. Of course this time, it was post apocalyptic fairy tale land, because without the fairies, some ugly little things had been able to break free and destroy fairytale world, and kill everyone in it. Bob looked at all the destruction he had caused, and sighed. Why couldn't he have found more sweet tasting happy creatures to bottle? Poor Bob. So Bob wandered around for a bit, just doing stuff, and then went back to his boring place, where he had lots of money and was elevated above everyone else because of this, and then he threw rocks at ugly people, and went to sleep. Bob never woke up because the one last fairy had followed him home and drilled little holes in his throat. Which was sad. Everyone didn't cry for Bob, but mourned the loss of fairy juice makers. Bob was dead, and went off to the afterlife. His death had been very very painful, by the way, with hours of screaming (he was awake when the fairy drilled the holes, and it drilled them with a spoon.) and Bob was now all pale, and stuff, and dead. In the afterlife he met lots of fairies, who flew up to him and tore him into little pieces. He could still feel the pain of the tearing, and as each piece of him was torn, he felt it. But as he was dead his senses were made better and stuff, so he felt more pain that he would've if it was possible to feel after being torn to pieces while being alive. I can't be bothered to end Bob's sad sad tale in any real way, and so I'll just say these two words. The End.