Fine men in aprons were on their way to serve kitchen masterpieces: Merlin, Escargot, and Red Sea oil from a beach where seagulls snatched towels.
At the resort, a Pepsi vending machine was caught flashing the words in LED display: lunch money or die!
A viper under a granny’s bed that night lost at hide-and-go-seek. (If once this viper were a sand bucket, he would now be a spit bucket.)
“Lord Francis, I’m afraid to inform you that your castle will not hold up against the wind,” said the wind.
That night, the trees were festive, dancing, and mixing Pepsi and pine needle cocktails. A viper tried to crash the party with a bulldozer but could not operate the controls without arms.
A monk chanted the following in Gregorian: “I hereby sentence you to 15 years of blindness in one eye.”
Tombstones at Lord Francis’ backyard were playing trading spaces without the consent of resident snails.
A lawsuit was written in stencils and spray paint on a garage door at some generic suburb. Out back a father and son played catch with a Merlin. But the seagull intercepted and shared the meal with the viper who now wore a snail as a tiny hat. There was consent.
The viper tried to play kick the can of Pepsi with his shadow but only kicked theoretically because he had no legs. No can do.
What basically happened that day was that a granny claiming to be Moses in a past life parted a 90-car pileup. (Some of these automobiles had seagull droppings. Yuck.)
This was prophecy. The opening allowed the Pepsi 18-wheeler man to pass through to a portal that would banish him for 15,000 years to an underworld dominated by snails. Pepsi man was none other than Lord Francis. He had to throw in the towel to his arch nemesis Marlin the magician who created the portal over several lifetimes.
Lord Francis was a high-ranking member of the Illuminati, a reptilian, and notorious robber baron.
But we now know one thing for sure. A new plate was served that day: Justice.