"Reading is a disease, and writing just perpetuates

"Reading is a disease, and writing just perpetuates it," ruminated Anton Meuble in his dim and disordered attic apartment as he languished in despair. The solitary grimy window

faced north. It was the only view he had seen for 12 years. Anton never left the apartment. The books he had strew across the floor were all open to the same page. Page 79. He

succumbed,disseminating,fricasseeing, skewering, twisting, pulverizing, pulping, beating, stretching, distorting the contents of the pages 79 until a strange code filled all walls.

Unfortunately, i could no longer read it, as using the pages as insulation didn't really make it visible to the naked eye, and I didn't see any x-ray goggles anywhere. So I

sighed and stashed the pages away. Maybe I could figure out a way to read them later. I wasn't sure what to do now that my options were at a seemingly dead end. I headed out the

turnstile to bellow up the stairs: "The beer cheese is in the medicine chest, Mother! The air conditioner is on the fritz!" Hoping no Germans heard me, I leapt through the window

I found myself in a narrow space between the two buildings. I looked up; catching warm rain on my face. I hope it was rain. A stray beam of light was spotlighting that darn cat.

The cat was high above me, on a window ledge, next to what appeared to be a large jar of sharp knives. It was nonchalantly washing itself, and every so often would push the jar

ever closer to the edge. “C’mon kitty,” I begged nervously, “don’t push that jar!” But what cat ever did what you wanted? With a final paw swipe, the jar of knives fell toward me,

but I was left unharmed! It turned out that the knives were actually made out of chocolate! I was left unharmed, though there still is a chocolatey brown stain on my blouse.