A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time in the mystical land of Knieval lived a man named Hank of Grumshire. Hank was a tall and handsome man--about six-and-a-half feet tall and about six-and-a-half feet handsome--but he didn't go around gloating about it like some muscle-bound beach-bum, putting some flex in his pecs and galavanting around showing his rock-hard abs to all the rock-hard crabs. Oh, heavens no! Hank was as modest as a shy nun. Hank made an honest living making honest pay at an honest job. Hank worked customer support for up-and-coming wireless company C-Mobile. The "C" is for cookie, and that's good enough for me. That's good enough for all of us.

One day Hank was on his luncheon-break, and he decided to travel through the Forests of Mystery so that he could dine at the Burger King of Despair. And so he skipped. He skipped and he skapped. He skipped and he skipped and he skipped some more. He skipped so much, in fact, that it's probably prudent that I (your ever-so-engaging narrator) go about with skipping most of the skipping. So, my love, consider the skipping skipped.

But alas and alack! Not everything was fun, frolicksome, and fancy-free in the Forests of Mystery! In fact, one would even say that there were...mysteries! Unbeknownst to Hank (but benownst to you via me), there was a small boy of nacht or twine cobblers old. You see, Flgrts don't measure their time in silly earth-standards. They measure their time in boisons--there are eighteen boisons in a berry and thirty-six berries in a cobbler. Additionally, the Flgrt number system is made up of various symbols, ranging from clutch to balsalm. Flgrts are weird. You can pronounce their name like you pronounce the word "pants."

There was only one Flgrt in the Forests of Mystery, and his name was Gkpp (conveniently enough, pronounced "Fork"). Gkpp was different than all the other Flgrts, of whom you already know so much. Gkpp was a runt. He was short and ugly (about clutch-and-a-half jumbies tall, and about clutch-and-a-half jumbies ugly). Because of his runtiness, Gkpp was exiled. Because of his exile, Gkpp was lonely.

You may be asking yourself, "Self: why does this story have so much needless exposition?" You deserve a rap in the nose for asking stupid questions. All good readers know that exposition is essential to whatever plot is forthcoming. For instance, the fact that Gkpp is a Flgrt (and, indeed, that he lives in the very forest through which Our Hero, Frank of Grumshire so fearlessly frolicks) will almost certainly come into play.

Back to Hank. Hank had a bad knee injury from his year on the national Chuzzle team. Chuzzle is a game kind of like your American football, except the players beat each other mercilessly with sledgehammers as they play. Because of his excrutiating injury, Hank's skipping slowed to a leisurely lilt. It was in this portion of the journey that Hank met Gkpp.

Gkpp was first to speak, and he took great joy in communicating with another living thing after all those long years. Gkpp said, "Fblrt gzkm rdrr mnpl bggg ltltg xtrc! Bnwgr gr tlp. Llntz zzpq lbrk k gzkm. Pttgl gyfbr nthbgnnn gthrwst hhttb nthfrtsld. Bglsnd kkgry yltzp lztrp?"

Roughly translated, Gkpp's words meant the following: "Hi man realm weird! Me Gkpp. Fish eat now mayhaps. Sanitary wipers must be now soon. Hair frog toucher?"

Smoothly translated, Gkpp's words meant the following: "Salutations to you, traveler from places unknown! My name is Gkpp. Mayhaps you would care to join me for a plate of fresh fish. We will need some napkins for our faces. Hair frog toucher?"

Of course, Hank of Grumshire didn't understand a word of Gkpp's speech. Hank isn't a Flgrt, silly. He went and got a burger and returned to work in time to help a few more customers before calling it a day.

The End.