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Written in ball-point, his name ran off the name tag and onto his polo shirt. "Difficult using tentacles," he slobbered. "You can call me 'Msibvuf' for short."

Meet all kinds at these Cosplay events."Your not Scylla from Moero Chronicle, right? No cocktail dress. Haha". "No, I Msibvuf from Urghfuthleog Cluster." Was his tongue a tentacle?

Yes and his eyes actually glowed red if it was a costume at all it was off the Richter scale of awesome. But as I neared the would be cosplayer something smelled fishy, literally.

Straight up fishy, like a crab that got lost in a giant clam that's stuck up in a heater that was crammed inside a skinny lady pretending to be a mermaid. But guess whar

-fs take the guesswork out of wondering what's under the wharf. Made of sturdy transparent material, guess wharfs allow even a morbidly obese albino to see what's swimming below!

I thought that was a curiously small segment of society to target but my horoscope that morning had said 'Go For It!' so I got out my checkbook & invested $350k in Guess Wharf INC.

The dreadnought was just what I hoped for. The pub style ale tasted good on a hot afternoon in the middle of I. Sir John Deere came by on his horse and joined me. We made a toast

to the backsides of pillows, both pretending we'd ever had one. Sir John Deere remarked about how the town crier in Crespin was harping about how his wife was in fragrante delecto

with the village idiot. She discovered this wasn’t so bad after all. The village idiot may have been an idiot, but he was extremely well endowed. IQ may not matter…but size does!