Anyway, getting on with the magic of storytelling.

Along time ago in a tiny bucket, there lived a clever little knight named Mordred who was no bigger than a shrivelled miniature marshmallow. In that tiny bucket he often designed delicate dinnerplates, despite dropping the occasional hint that he was a homosexual knight seeking solace in servile somnambulance. Since the accident in the privy, he's been wearing diapers. Only the lady of the house is tired of cleaning up his dirty mess. One day he went too far. She found, in his bucket: a hallucination in which he killed something not of this earth. He forgot to dispose of the hallucinogenic space body, unleashing plagues of rancid earthworms, spreading much shriveled miniature marshmallow eating that had diahrea for a fortnight. Accordingly, scatological research became the source of dyslexic llama dancing. In other news, aliens from the planet Earth are infiltrating the mouths of carnivorous chickens (that is, all of them) of which only three survived. And then the monolith awoke. It wasn't a pretty sight. Then a herbivorous crocodile some thirty leagues away heard a submarine approaching rapidly and he ate some mildly interesting seaweed before choking in disgust. The EVIL octopus came at him…