There once was a little boy called Fred.

There once was a little boy called Fred. He had a no spine and had a very weird

manner of walking. His feet were quite wobbly and his legs moved in circular motions rather than forwards and backwards, largely owing to the fact that his spine was so non-existen

t. His stare persistent as he clutched his ribs. Dark blobs filed into his vision as he could feel his consciousness leaking away.

Maybe trepanning wasn't all it was cracked up to be on that street sign with the olde-fashioned cursive. Then again, maybe consciousness wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Nothing

but skullduggery I thought. I needed this trepanning like a hole in the head. So I put on a helmet. This threw the witchdoctors for a loop.

So the witch doctors thought out of the box & sent woodpeckers to peck through my helmet & skull. My brain vibrated & mushed up & I fell into the pit. The witch doctors high fived

the woodpeckers, who promptly pecked holes in their hands. Huh. Well, no matter. The witch doctors proceeded to fill the pit with pits. Apricot pits, olive pits, avocado pits,

bbq pits, and arm pits. Their sacred worship of anything pits was odd, none the less. They had to get out of this jungle, and they'd have to remain awake until this ritual was over

at each other and giggling like madmen. Resplendent with fresh BO, they all fell into a heap, looked up at the stars and thought to themselves, "This is the best summer ever!"