Me heads full of facts, I can hardly think

Me heads full of facts, I can hardly think around them to write these words. It all started on May 2, 1899 in Worthbridgeshire. There was this friendly hardworking man I met dancin

' the jig & singin' at the top of his lungs. So merry was he that ev'ry one of us there at the pub couldn't help but foller him. An' 'foller him we did, right out the door & into

the street. Pe'ple were glancin' at us and making sarcastic comments but we didn't care. Our whole makeshift troupe was singing an' dancin' and soon we had woken all of London up

. We were partying like it was 1999. (I was dreamin' when I wrote this, so forgive me if I go astray.) I just listened to me body & kept shakin me booty until Big Ben struck 12.

ride digital sheep into a bee hive. He had always liked the smell of honey, not so much the taste, but that wouldn't matter too much. It was about stings and stickyness. Big Ben

was a friend that I held in close regard. Even closer than my favorite stick which had been with me since I could remember. That was until one fateful day when a fire broke out at

Granny Cheswick's Bed and Breakfast in Belize, where I was attending a conference on currency manipulation. I charged past firefighters to find my favorite stick, which I had left

in my hotel room. I didn't care about the rubble or smoke of the burned-down building, I just knelt there and hugged my beloved wooden stick. "I'm so sorry for leaving you" I said.

I blocked out the sirens and shouts from around me, making myself calm down so that with a steady pulse, I picked it up... carrying it to the door, ready to return it to its owner.