This tale is set in a small mining village west of The Segonian Cleft and a singular fortnights travel northward from the bogs of Tartese. It is the story of one mans struggle against the mediocrity that inundates the minds of every other person but him.
It was a cool autumn day in the ghettos of Argalesh. The leaves, with their russet hues and rustically infused gait, swept their cotillion steps against the obsidian firmament. Its du-rag clad denizens cavorted along the bling bedecked avenues. All the gangsters and gangsterettes with little gangsters in tow, were either erect or moist with anticipation for this years celebration of oxygen and trees. With each downy cascade of Earths Autumnal blade against her arboreal spawn, and much to the consternation of the townsfolk, God did souse a dirty cherub in his very own salty effuse. The effect this saline spa treatment had upon the collective consciousness heralded an ephemeral era of peace and opulence. But since we looked up ephemeral just now we know it to mean that this period of relative tranquility would soon meet a sexy ending at the hands of a force so wholly not nice, that deceased relatives, were they still alive, would indubitably have been at least mildly inconvenienced by this somewhat sinister force.
The hegemony was anxious to impose it's malevolent will upon all things gay, and its arrival was but not a moment too soon. For gaiety abounded. Kittens whom previously sat around cutely mewing, now fled as if vacuums had taken rein. Had our hero's conviction not a heavenly tilt, Fate's schemes to fellate the good from earth would have intimately and ultimately intertwined with perpetuity; infinite in appetite, yet bridled by Orion's Lariat. But could that lariat vaunt the accolade of "yummy bum num yeah" or had the world too, cast a calloused glaze? My mom made me soup for dinner.
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