Spandarg pulsed his lemons. He loved to pulse

Spandarg pulsed his lemons. He loved to pulse the lemons. Loved it like a man loves his ghost. He pulsed them until they could take no more, and then he

lazily flipped the ripe lemon over his neighbour's fence, where it struck Jänine the dog on the belly as she rolled in the freshly manured flowerbeds. Something seemed strange in

the state of Denmark. For one, the flowerbeds should have been manured weeks ago, and the now poop-covered Jänine was only a testament to this glaring oversight.

Jänine sighed. No matter where she went in the world, she always ended up being covered in poo, and it was never her fault. Or was it? What part had she been playing in her

grand plan? Is it a plan if you unexpectedly end up in poo? Is there a continent in which poo is managed responsibly? Jänine decided to become an astronaut. They probably have a

better method for dealing with large amounts of brown matter. Maybe everything would be better if they pretended it was HP sauce or

perhaps even HP printing ink for sepia printing. "People just had no optimistic imagination these days," muttered Fraternity Brown, a self-serving psychologist. He had used the ink

to create rorschach tests, which he then showed to himself, analyzing his own responses. "Very interesting. Now please tell me about your childhood," Brown asked of himself.

"I see a boy playing alone at the edge of a playground, away from the other children." "That must have been very difficult." Brown replied to himself, putting his hand on his own

hip. And that was the beginning of a wonderful friendship, to forever be cherished.