How could I have forgotten that hotel room

How could I have forgotten that hotel room full of smoke? Lana'd gotten a bag of loose cigarettes and over the two weeks, the room took on hazy strata. I'd count the layers and

up and let out the choking fumes, before collapsing along the black-stained wall. The smoke alarm didn't even seem to work. "Lana, where have you gone?" I murmered, waking up

from my drugged stupor. "Dude! I gave you one simple instruction! Do not let the magic parakeet pee fire on our worldly possessions!" Lana had a point. But magic parakeet's were

a free-spirited sort. You can't just go around telling such a creature where, when,and on whom it should pee its magical fiery urine. It doesn't work like that. As our house burned

we took stock of our situation. All our possessions gone, we decided to craft a quick sail from leaves and a poncho and used it to catch the updraft from the blaze. Once above the

blazing forest we noticed a lake nearby. It was our best bet so we caught the fire's thermals and glided towards it. We landed with a splosh only to find that the lake

was stocked with pseudotrout. We made our way to the lake's shore as our glider sank, fearing the worst regarding potential pseudotrout reportage. Their allegiance was

unknown at first, but soon we saw they carried sabres and red flags emblazoned with a skull surrounded by green concentric circles. Whoever they were, they weren't pseudofishermen.

They were Gordon's fishstick fisherman. The worst of the lot. The squalls threatened, blood was in the air. Today was a good day to die because I am, forever, Julius Flounder.