My cup failed me. That was the fourth and last time it would not runneth over. I searched the third level of hell for a replacement. Virgil, tsking all the way, trudged by my side. I told Virgil that he should stop being a pessimist, "we are in hell, literally, it cannot get any worse than this," Virgil shouted back, as I continued to search for a buddy who wasn't such a Debbie Downer. At the nearby Brim N' Stones, I ended up chatting with a testy old battle-axe named Betty who was in Hell for blowing up the woods where Lady Cheltenham had once taken tea with The Oracle. According to legend, the cookies are still there in the ruined woods for those who know how to look. Betty had more tales to tell, but the bards knew them all - all except The Oracle's Teatime. Betty would find the ancient teacakes in that forbidden wood and learn the story. She left town with a pack. of feral cats in tow. She was posing as a cat wrangler on her way to Vanity Fair. Every time she was asked her destination she answered, "The next town." The Oracle's Teatime spelt out that she would meet her future husband on the way to St. Ives. So she altered her path, and soon met a man with six wives, all with sacks of cats, and in need of another wife. “Aren’t you satisfied with 6 wives? She tested, and he reacted, “There are 7 days in a week. And, 7 is a lucky number.” They wed at St. Ives; she received a sack filled with 7 cats & those 7 cat lives came in handy, for her life with his six other wives was no catnip treat.She was the Sunday wife after all & despite his tomcatery, Sunday was his day of rest.



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Life in Hell is not all it’s cracked up to be.

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