Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, my wombat wandered woofully into the night, leaving behind only his world and his beautiful, beautiful, bats. Yes, bats. The ones that fly. Oh yes. While the loss of my pet saddened me, I was comforted by those flapping blind carriers of rabies, who swoop so soothingly close to the treetops. The insects fly, ignorant of death approaching silent as the wings of oblivion soar closer, the doom sonar chittering as they come. The predators and their prey dance and swirl in clouds, masking the vicious reality of the necessity of death with beauty and grace.
Suddenly, an epiphany enveloped me. My wombat's flight was not one of whimsy, but one of necessity. It was striving towards something greater, the only bat large and powerful enough to defeat the Horrible Housefly of Hloodalpine.
A foul beast it was, an insect that had plagued my wombat's spaghetti. The horrid fly made numerous journeys between the delicious pasta and his hidden cave, taking another strand with every trip. Unable to abide this foul fettuccine filching, my wombat set course for Hloodalpine disguised as one of the Housefly's minions. The wombat thought to himself, "I am one sexy minion. Triple H will not be able to resist my undulating hips, which should give Mr. Great Bat the opportunity to slurp my spaghetti ruefully while I call down the wrath of ten thousand bats. Yes, bats. Beautiful, beautiful bats bent upon sweet, sweet revenge. They engulfed the skies and left nothing but a thick trail of guano for both my eyes and my stomach to digest. They fell from my grace yesterday, but tomorrow they will redeem themselves."
Alas, it was too late for my wombat's spaghetti. The guano made it too delicious and the Horrible Housefly ate it all. My perturbed wombat cried out, "Who would have thought that a housefly would like to eat shit?" I then remembered that my wombat whatches reality T.V. Explains a lot.
The next morning, I woke up in bed with my wombat. He stretched then growled. Turned his head, squinted at me and said "Coffee?" I kissed him and said, "Yes, thanks", hiding the fact that I clearly am avoiding the ravidly terrible coffee the wombat makes. So, after he left the room to make it, I sneaked out the back door, and got my decoy. I put it on the bed and ran outside, jumping into the first taxi I saw. My heart may be cold and black, but my coffee shouldn't have to be!
I arrived to my destination, and the wombat was there, it said