Tuesday, July 14, 2015


There was a rat who became a rich maharaja over in those eastern lands, he had a bejewelled turban and women-servants with the chemise face-veil laying on silk pillows and all that jazz, but still he missed his home in Nagambie where the blond princess would chase him around the house and he could eat all the green scrubbing sponges his heart desired. It was a simpler life and cold as hell, but he felt the warmth from heart of the blond princess that made his ratty eyes glow red. Over here, in all this luxury, nobody really cared enough to chase him around and his eyes were beady and black and dead.

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