Hi, my name is Ciaran and I'm a monk in a

but enough about me, what's a stunna like you doing in a bar like this?" Ciaran crossed his legs under his tunic & the light bounced off his tonsure. "Well... Brother... I have a d

ate with Trixmelda." "Trixmelda?! Wow, nice, but what's the point? Didn't you submit to the ultimate sacrifice?" Ciaran nodded. "Yes I did, but there's a reversal process now that

the magic hat and all of us are right on board with ceasing to hoard." Trix couldn't help but nix this plan, saying, "Ciaran, the ultimate sacrifice wasn't so nice but wow that cow

Was good at producing milk for our favourite homemade cheese." Indeed, they had a year's supply of Limberger cheese, frozen. No one they knew liked Limberger, so they lived off it.

Lived being the operative word. They made clothing of it, cars, jewelry, cutlery; even household pets. Granted the pets were next to useless and smelled ungodly but existed just th

-e same. When danger threatened they threatened back. So it was that eventually they and nature came to a mutual accommodation with each other. Nature recognized their smelly pets.

And they realized that nature's fleas were people, too. So they took off their pets' flea collars and build a tiny shopping mall for the fleas, complete with a flea Cinnabon and a

flea Yankee Candle. The owners of Flea Shopping Mall thought it was a good idea, but they found most fleas didn’t have money to buy stuff. They just walked the mall and freeloaded.

Still, they persistently fornicated and multiplied—not just a little—but constantly until they became a nuisance. Pesticides had been banned; without a remedy, the Fleas ruled.