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And so the Druillet ran on, it's huge feet beating incessantly against the dew damp earth. It knew not where it ran, and it knew not why, in fact it knew nothing. Fortunately the Druillet was a mythical creature and hence could live on a mythical premise that as long as people still put the Druillet in stories it would survive, so it need know nothing.
Just dubbem for me mate.
The mildew stench seeped through the building until it finally came to invade the nostrils of Mr Luggs. Not a man prone to in action, he set about finding the source of the uninvited odour. But alas, though a man of action he was, a man of persistence he was not, and so the source of the odour went undetected.
The Glimstick stood resplendently bathed in a light of its own making. No hand had touched the sacred and mythical wand for aeons. Unfortunately Gus had not been told this, so his first day as the cleaner of the the Dark Bastion was decidely shorter then he had expected.
The pudding knew it's only chance was to make a move for it before the cook placed it in the oven. As the cook reached down to pick it up, the pudding faked right, then dodged left and made a hasty escape out the open window.
Alfred believed that to keep your huckle's well buffed was extremely important. Hence he spent most of his time working on the definition around his ankles and hips.
I never could see the attraction with skateboarding.
The cleaner brother of Scoobiedoo.
You know you really don't get much meat off these spiders, almost doesn't make it worth eating them.
There he goes again, that damn Bob staggering back from the pub. You know we should really give him some sort of name to make fun of him with. Gee, I just wish I could think of something...
I wuve whoobub.
Writers choice!
