I... am ... tired.... 1 am rolls again around

brain, it's fingers threshing through the bloody twists & turns of my mind, searching, seeking my amygdala, the center of my emotion. My name is Dr. Foldenstein & this is my story.

Before the terrible monstrosity I created, I was a happy German lad. Descendent of the great family Foldenstein, I went to creative writing school. I longed to discover the spark o

f creativity deep within my swampy soul. It came to me in a vision that I must use more adverbs. The monster Foldenstein agreed wholeheartedly and I gingerly took up my quill

and wrote: Willingly, ever so modestly, the monster swayed triumphantly in the breeze. ... I frowned and crumpled the paper. "ADVERBS!? You want more ADVERBS!? Who do you think I

am, a member of royalty? Adverbs are expensive, and so far I haven't seen a single euro from any of you." The audience waited, while the master writer baited.

In walked the Queen. She slowly ambled to her chair with an air of a premature victor. The master writer stared. Would she be able to pay for the contestants' pricy adverbs?

The Queen's beautiful tortoiseshell fur coat and her lovely meowing made her such a charmer. No one cared whether her human, Sir Osbert Huxley III, had the funds to pay for it.

Which he didn't. He owed money all over The City. He had been barred from all of his Clubs and had to cross the Strand to find a pub that would serve him but for much lighter coin.

Marie, at Boingeaux's House of Questionable Beef, had a big heart and fed him beef heart from a cow that had died from an enlarged heart. The two got married and died soon after.