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Siege on the treehouse necessitated that hot oil be dumped on the encroaching enemy.  When no burning oil was to be found, the shredded remains of a phone that barely survived winter had to substitute.  The enemy vanquished, the treehouse was safe, but now the tattered remains of the phonebook lay on the ground.

A mass of miniature jungle, untamed, called for domestication.  The powerful cutter truncated each towering blade, but would not be satisfied with this meal.  Twigs splintered in its severing vortex, shreds of paper once belonging to a phonebook that lay helplessly on the ground were mutilated beyond seeming possibility, and, confetti-ized, lay once again on the cruel earth open to any more persecution that could find them.

Calling hours are–



  1. Oh Samuel, I demand to be invited to the calling hours and I see you have had a productive day. I also want you to know that the next time you have a shortage of hot oil, I am there for you. It’s almost sacrilegious that you destroyed this artifact that has practically become spiritually lignified with the tree. (I made that jumbled mess just so I could use THE WORD.) But the bottom line is… from whom exactly were you defending the tree house?

  2. Actually, it was Remington trying to keep Mark out of the tree. I would not have performed such atrocities. And this happened earlier this week–today I was BORED.

  3. Sam, I have but one question that may seem to tie to this odd story. Why in the first place would you decide to burn a phone book, or attatch it to a tree, and freeze it, and do everything random to it, when it was just a simple phonebook that should be recycled ?
    So, SAMUEL … Why?

    • Why would you dare to question me or my actions? Need I any reason for doing this? Motivation means nothing to me.

  4. I can’t believe that you didn’t stop such madness. I’m sorry that you were bored.

  5. Well, the day improved in the evening, so boredom was vanquished.
    I mowed over the shreds of the phonebook, so perhaps it was intentional on my part, at least part of the demise.

  6. Gosh darnit. I thought this wuz spozed to be updated? HM? You should at least update it before you leave us. FOREVER (wide eyes).


  8. I don’t even know what day it is any more, but you’re still gone and I still miss you, and… WOAH. I never noticed that you replied with “bah.” Very tasteful, Mister Swain.


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