Real life? You can keep it.
Sometimes living in the swamp is good. Sometimes it's very, very good. It keeps me away from mad people.
The villagers were having a parade the other day. Since I'd hardly visited the village in recent months, it could not have been in my honour so I strolled across the swamp to see what it was about. It was about politics. Well, politics is of no interest to me since I found out that the Prime Monster wasn't really a brown gorgon after all, just someone with a similar name. Still, I'd gone all that way so I called in at the Throat and Razor for a pint (they say they have to call it a half-litre now for no good reason I could find). They had Hamish McCirrhosis's Bellyblaster on tap so I ordered one.
The talk was all of something called the 'Scottish parliament' which is apparently run by a salmon. A more talented fish it is hard to imagine, I thought, despite wondering why we needed another parliament when we have a perfectly dysfunctional one already, in some place called London somewhere.
Well, it seems this shoal of politicians have let loose a dangerous lunatic and nobody's pleased. Other than the Brown Gorgon and his cabinet (though why any sort of action should affect the feelings of furniture, and why anyone should care, I never did work out). They are very pleased because it lets them look for oil in the desert.
Hey, don't ask me. I was just eavesdropping.
So the parliament of mad people has cajoled a parliament run by a fish into releasing someone nobody wanted released in order to allow some other bunch of loonies to rummage about in sand looking for oil. That pretty much sums up what I heard.
Sometimes people tell me my stories are too far-fetched and far too unrealistic. That they have no relationship with real life.
I can see why now. I'm using far too much logic and common sense in those tales.
Real life makes no sense at all.
