As the sun shines down on the desolate sandlands,

As the sun shines down on the desolate sandlands, the rays glisten off the freshly polished pile of abandoned skeletal remains. The bones had notches and breaks in them likely from

the teeth of a grand beast, likely as savage and unforgiving as these wastelands. The sand kicked up, a brief moment of movement, and the bones vanished under the sand. How many of

these random folds must I complete to garner the interest of my fellow Foldsters? At any rate, there I was, stuck in the desert. I must be cursed! I pumped nudists heavenward and

cried out, "Fellow nude Foldsters follow me into the light!" The heavens opened and the rain poured down washing me in

Words and pictures reminiscent of Monty Python. Terry Gilliam produced a film of it and planned to release it in a few months! What to call it?

The Other Balls that don't have policemen. The Monty Pythons actually considered it for a total of 0.00000000001 seconds, flashing by in a dream. That was more than your idea got.

Your idea got bumped down to the Benny Hill gag writing office, where it was briefly discussed, but only if it included half-clad nurses and dirty old men in wheelchairs. It was

your baby and you didn't want it besmirched by half-clad nurses & dirty old men in wheelchairs. Besides your intended audience hadn't been for the Benny Hill fans. Your idea needed

a hashtag, something to click with the cliques of celebrity youth culture. And for heck's sake, avoid pronouns, the deadliest part of speech there ever was, invented by Hitler. You