This story will end after 10 lines. OK, Now

This story will end after 10 lines. OK, Now what? Who's going to tell me what to write next? Why did my teacher have to require me sing up for this humiliation? I can Sign a Check!

I looked on Wikipedia for the next line, but it wasn't there. Some girl named Loren Ipsum said she'd help, but she just texts me nonsense. Twitter might

be where I misplaced my brain but I haven't found it yet. In the meantime Loren Ipsum texted me a rather bizarre proposition: "Let's break into the Hines factory and make a Nylon

bust of Lady Gaga!" "make it out of teflon and you've got yourself a deal", said someone ib back. It was Pants McGullwing. Yes, THOSE McGullwings. The ones with the giant

executive who just underwent his fifth lapband surgery. This time he took the bust of Lady Gaga and wedged it right in his esophagus to keep big pieces of poorly chewed

apprentice taxidermist, chuckling under his breath. He'd stuffed more beavers than Ron Jeremy and had heard all the accompanying jokes. The owner of Beavers R Us wasn't so easily

placated though, even my offer to provide him with more beavers than a canadian national park could handle done nothing to appease him, this guy took his beavers seriously, it was

really kind of an unhealthy obsession. He'd driven everyone away from him: friends, family, lovers. All discarded in his pursuit of the elusive, dam-building rodents. He knew

the beavers wouldn't wait forever - they already had enough soldiers to destroy half the solar system. "We would've been dead long ago" he said, "if Jupiter weren't so fucking big"