"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.


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