"Who, me? I'm the guy that runs this joint.

"Who, me? I'm the guy that runs this joint. I tell ya. Tenants always complaining. During the Ice Age, they asked me to turn up the heat. Now its 'global warming.' What gives?"

The place is 4 billion yrs old for cryin' out loud. So the heatings cantankerous. The place has charm doesn't it? It's in the best part of the solar belt. I have a mind to evict

those cancerous bipeds but it looks quite likely that they'll self-exterminate. There's plenty of water on this globe, abundant sunlight, and if you'd like to move in I can throw

in complimentary landscaping. Didn't I just hear the little missus say she'd like a flare garden? Moving to this planet means no more shoveling snow or potholes. This place can be

paradise. But first, they'd have to get used to the giant carnivorous ferns. The only way to tell a carnivorous fern from one that wasn't was to

throw a pork chop at it. But the fern ate the chop and then chased after my pet piebald rat, Razvan. I searched paradise high and low for my little ratty friend but my cries echoe

d throughout the stony labyrinth in which I now found myself trapped. Around which corner would I find the Minotaur? Rumor had it that some of these mazes were infinite. A chill

ed salad fork was all I had with which to defend myself, and surely the Minotaur had five, maybe ten, forks at least! I was doomed. And my fork was slowly warming. The labyrinth

had turned into an unnaturally straight tunnel of doom, but my mind was now scrambled and I doubted my every step. The many-forked Minotaur backed away mockingly. My salad fork

wasn't as big as his salad fork, and mine relied on vulnerable OpenSSL securities. The Minotaur had a necklace of many salad forks, and it was truly the grandest of all.