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"IM SEXY AND YOUR JELLY" were the dying words of an anonymous woodchuck, summarizing his 56 year trek through the kneehills of Fotophobia. A shaman, four scribes and a representative of the Smucker's Jam Company were gathered at his bedside, bent over to catch lingering phrases with legal implications. Just the day before, Sammy the woodchuck, for that's what he was called, was berating his board of directors for feeding company horses inferior molecules. He waved a corset over his head, screaming Laotian obscenities and hurling a cast iron dalmatian door stop at Sancho Panzaless. Astounding behavior for any octogenarian mammal.

None present took his words literally, of course. A nigh-hairless groundhog, flesh sagging at every conceivable point, was far from sexy. The Jam rep fervently hoped that jelly was a sign pointing his career upward. After impartial demons conducted a rigorous statistical analysis, the oracle was interpreted as a prophecy involving dogs and Scottish towns with more than 7800 people in them.

It seems that when dogs learn to speak with telepathic linkages developed by Peruvian sausage vendors, said Scottish towns (not cities, apparently) will spontaneously lift wholesale out of the ground, floating 877 meters above the sea level. Monsters will rise from the seas, calling for their oatmeal. Lemurs will wear sneakers, footballers will drink beer and a foul odor shall be sent across the lands.

We recommend you find shelter underground. Weapons are useless; if the monsters find you, you can't kill them, and you will die. Do not consume citrus the first 4 days, and then, only in moderation. Do not laugh or cough too loudly; it attracts them. Stock up on food and water, of course. If you happen to have the skull of a sasquatch, count yourself lucky. It has magical powers against the monsters.