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And now a word from our madman:

<madman will be inserted later>

<madman has been located. madness shall commence!>


Huh?


...



What?

Oh.


Well.


Oh.

Ooooh, oh my.


Lost my crossbow, we have. Lost our crossbow I have lost it, lost it, lost the world, the hood, the block, the crossbow, lost the guy, the guy, the... lost the guy! Lost my mind. Lost his mind. Your mind. Abernafle's minds, all the minds lost.

Oh, but I lost the crossbow. Dear, sweet precious crossbow, how I miss you. Hoooow... how I miss... misss... missing the pieces, the pieces of my mind, all missing, missing, drifting in the breeze. Can you hear the stars? They're in the breeze, swinging, singing, singing in the breeze, the heavenly celestial breeze that the ancients thought would blow us all away. It would have to, were we moving. Such a silly thought. Moving through the universe, the litttle, littttttle universe.

But we are moving, always moving, and they're coming. Always coming. Coming!


They're coming!


And I lost the bow, the crossbow, the precious, the sweet, sweet angels of death, why, all lost! Because the crossbow is lost and the bolts are useless and... and the manholes are coming. Coming. Always coming! Manholes, everywhere, manholes. Only manholes. Only coming. All alone now.

All alone.


But I had hope, once. With the crossbow there was hope, even alone, hope against the darkness, the hordes, the spreading evil, the coming.

There was hope.

When Abernafle invented the bow as we fell against the manholes, dire, terrible manholes, coming, coming, always coming, and the dreams were shaking and the...


Leaves...


Fell...



Softly...


But there was hope, then. We were not alone and we had our bows and we fought, and we fought and the skies changed. Dream to drear to wish to hope to light. To life. And still we fought, and we fled and they came but we dwindled as the snows melted. So few of us, so few, so few and the gleaming of the dead world in the dawn before the spring shined maddeningly through our minds, so futile, so strange, so injust... so... crazy.


And then I was alone.


Alone with the manholes. Alone with the death and the dusk and the soft spring sounds as the birds fluttered lazily overhead, the flowers bloomed mockingly underfoot and the rubble gleaming from the ashes of another ruined civilisation...

Alone.

But had a bow, a precious, dear sweet precious. It became a crossbow, so perfect, so... very... perfect. For a brief time, I was death that came for them! Not only was there hope, but revenge, revenge, revenge against the manholes that came, those plants, those hideous horrible plants that always came, always come, always... coming...

Coming...

Coming for me now. Manholes. Coming. Killed us all. Unjust? Crazy? The botanists were right. The manholes, not only are they real, they really are. Plants. They said they were and they are! Plants! And they're smart, smart enough to wipe near everyone out, is that smart? Is it?

It's crazy.


I'm crazy, too. Crazy me for a crazy world. Crazy you for a crazy world, perchance you will? Sit down and smoke a kippa, ah, but the manholes are coming! Coming! And there is no crossbow. No Spoon, no spork, no foon, not even a dire little fork, just... a manhole. Cute little manhole. Baby little manhole mewling for its mummy, but... the things don't have mummies! Plants! PLANTS!


PLANTS!