Each home represented a different culture

Each home represented a different culture and ethnicity. One neighbor was Laos, another Creole, and another Sudanese. Yet, we all gathered together on a monthly basis to share

our love of Nordic folklore, breathing new life into the ancient sagas through the medium of bodily secretions - our only means of effective communication in this hellish neo-Babel

worship me as the river goddess that I am. I'm irresistible to Nordic types & Olaf never stood a chance. I wheel a rusty trolley around filled with river fruits like old tyres,

discarded dishes, and a life-long collection of buttons. That night she prepared Olaf her stew made out of the trimmings thrown out of a nearby pub from a St. Paddy's day

writer's convention. The stew as attuned to the luminous spoon that Olaf held in his evil hand. She hoped that when he tasted the stew he would grant her the magic access to

his pants, so she could plant a big cast iron time bomb to blow him up. The evil Olaf tasted the stew. "This is delicious! I hereby grant you magic access to my pants." She

pretended to thank him &, making herself really, really little, she entered his fetid pants with trepidation, and the bomb. Olaf laughed & zipped up, shouting, "HA! Gotcha now, you

little squirt!" I chose that moment to return to my full size. His fetid pants exploded. I was free! "Party pooper," he said.

I continued to grow until he was as small to me as I was to him originally. I picked him up. "Oh I'm a lot worse than that," I said, and threw him into the stratosphere.