It was the prince who killed the dogs, not

  • It was the prince who killed the dogs, not the servant. But the servant got blamed, of course!
  • In punishment for killing the dogs, the servant had to spend the week pegged to a clothes line above one of the city's smelliest streets. He thought, if only I could peg my nose
  • so I don't have to take in this unbearable stench. He was branded on the forehead for his crime. Children who saw him hanging there pointed and laughed.
  • The gibbet was on the docks of Port-au-Prince. As a pirate, this was the worst. The governor's daughter seripticiously handed him a note through the bars. "Be ready at nightfall."
  • It turned nightfall instantly, the pirate wasn't ready though! He didn't step to the side so the cannonball that went smashing through the wall wouldn't hit him. The governor won.
  • I suppose sometimes we walk right into our own demise. Like this story I just heard about a pirate and a governor who were fighting over the love of a snaggle-toothed, gimpy
  • walrus with a history of narcolepsy. In the end the walrus eloped with a seahorse and abandoned the pirate and governor altogether. The story taught me we are the architects of
  • our own dreams. I nolonger cared about my boring waking life. The next night I engineered a 'chance' encounter with the narcoleptic walrus & his now pregnant seahorse partner.
  • I became addicted to dreaming. It was rather difficult to explain to the rest of my family why I needed to spend nearly 20 hours a day locked up in a dark bedroom.
  • I would wake to piles of letters they had slid under the door. They begged for me to join the waking world. Eventually they accepted me as I am, and left food and water instead.


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