Riccardo Day, who decided to wear the eyebrow on his forehead, was a noble fiendish gas, who wandered the solar system looking for pigeons to race against the pink wall on the left of the food court. He planted many obstacles on this wall to fool his friendly fiendish pigeons, like staples and the like. When these made bumps in the gloopy wallpaper, the maintenance ball was often called for to eradicate the messy cloud of mess left on the left. "Really? Gosh," said the heinously badly carpeted greaseball of a globular grainball, who was using Noor as a foot rag, "My, you've gone up in the world!" And the pigeons had, because one of the staples was, indeed, a lift, it was it was, and it had, in fact, lifted said pigeons up in the world. Or, at least, they were on the cusp of doing so. "Ah, the cusp," said the Right Hon. Ric. Day. BSE. WED. NES. DAY. , who decided to be less than three, and thereby executed 2 pigeons, because two was less than three, so that was all right. He had, however, farted this message, so the pigeons got a bit scared of the obnoxiously gaseous gas, who quite blatantly couldn't control himself, and how unlucky that was indeed, and indeed they did shiv themselves, or at least, those below them, as they had no need for the noble underwear, being only base creatures, no more welcome in your house than an angry beholder, par examplé or something. So it was, that the noble fiendish gas was beshivved upon, and he didn't really like it that much, as it was wholly unlucky, despite what the paper marbles say, and so he turned himself into a frying pan, for the sole purpose of being hit over the chickens heads, and also the pigeons, who happened to be there. And the unlikely ball.