My chance of escape was quickly diminshing due to my fowl situation. Back pressed againsed the wall, I felt around frantically until my hand and arm slipped through what I had thought was solid plaster. I managed to turn and noticed a portal had opened and above the portal read, in giant neon letters, "3rd Person Escape Route". I flung myself throught the portal.

Shmelmo found himself standing in a large crowded market wearing a pink tu-tu and holding a collection of Barbara Striesand albums. This in and of itself didn't concern Schelmo, what realy worried him was the fact he appeared to be 12 inches tall.

25 With a 4 foot dick 26 and a hardcore fedish for phlipeno sex slaves 27 "Damn" he thought "I need to hop on napster and download untill it sleeps from proftallica" Yes 28

"But no, I must go on. I can not allow my vision of superior hatdom to fade unfought for. Like Sir William Wallace who sneered at the foul Englishman who dared to invade his beloved Scotland, I will fight on." Then Shmelmo realized what happened to Sir William Wallace. "Wait a minute", he exclaimed, "William Wallace had his balls cut off and his arms and legs ripped from his body by the English. I don't want a stupid hat." Instead, I will find a way to overcome my hair challengedness and fling scorn on those foolish hat addicts who dare not to dream the great dream -- Hair Transplant Surgery !!! I will seek the center of the mighty cult, The Men's Hair Club. There I will seek to overcome my visible sign of non-virility. I will grow hair. Long, thick, luxurious hair. Hair any man would be proud to have on his head. I will even have hair that a Bangkok hooker would be proud of (Hmmm, sounds like a good idea...)

29 and, in the fashion of all divine visions, he saw his own holy grail bob by on the head of the village drunkard (she was a very rich, very fat, very dark fan of vodka-and-orange juice) like a huge dead blak swan -- A WEAVE! Surely with such a monstrosity (plus a few hundred small, sharp attachments)set upon his skull he would be able to take out the munchkin prince and his thousand troops of frog-monkies. Yes, a weave was the answer, but what was the question, again, Alex? Ah, yes -- how to achieve posession of said copveted hairpiece[s]. Then, as suddenly as the first divine vision, there came another, in the from of a small, whit cat with a crescent moon on its head. She said nothing, only did one gigantic backflip which produced none other than the fabled PICKLED CHICKEN FETUS. It fell with a soft 'ploot' into his hand, and began to instruct him ... 30 how to spell. 31

While the fallen Pickled Chicken Fetus attempted to instruct me on how the letter "y" is sometimes a vowel and sometimes a consanant, I thought to myself, "I wonder exactly what method of pickling was used on this fetus? Was it 'sweet and sour', or perhaps 'kosher dill'?" By this point the magical fetus was into silent letters. "Fuck this!", I thought, and picked up the fetus. The fetus was rather obviously shaken by this decision and rather concerned about it's future. The fetus's fate was now in my hands. The fact that at this point I could do anything with the fetus I wanted was appealing, however, I knew what I must do with it. 32 Ignoring its howls of protest, I picked it up and swung it around several times, letting the fetus gain speed before launching it at the village drunkard.

"Aaaaaaiiiiiiieeeeeeee!" the fetus screeched as it sailed through the air like a...well like a chicken fetus (believe me it ain't a pretty sight!).

"Holy fuckin' hell" I cried as I watched it hit my unsuspecting target, knocking him unconscious. I ran over, saying a small prayer of thanks as I saw the holy grail was still intact! Now to remove my prize.

Grabbing a blowtorch, a scalpel, and a plunger I started the long and arduous task... 33

....of shoving, cutting and searing the grail up my ass. This was to ensure the safe keeping of the grail and to add a deep no gloss laquer on it. After carefully manuvering the grail into my colon, I ran for the 34 light in the tunnel, and little did I realise it was actually quite hard to run with a grail up your ass. So I did small bunny hops instead, but then I tripped over a tampoon laid strategically on the ground, and fell headfirst into 35 a pot of boiling oil. The grail was floating in the oil beside me so i grabbed it and ran like hell into 36 a nearby chinese resteraunt. The grail was a nice golden color by now and was in desparate need of some duck sauce. Before I made it to the mecca of MSG an old wizend chinese woman with a giant wart on her 37 left eyeball had appeared directly in my path. I stopped dead in my tracks, transfixed by her improbably placed wart, as she looked at me intently. She raised her hand as if to smack me, but instead grabbed my chin and croaked, 38 Thou shalt never enter the mecca of hair weaves until thou discoverest the secret of mentos! With a hideous whoop, she wacked the back of my head with a stale french bread and pulled the not too salty, not too sweet grail out of my ass. Through the haze, I heard her gallop off singing ditties of fresh breath. Then I passed out. 39

our hero awakens. unfortunately, not to the sound of his own snoring, or the clamor of a busy street, but to the sort of high-pitched buzz-whack that can only be attributed to the imfamous thousand troops of frog-monkies comanded by none other than his royal highness, Prince Hupasniddle Umpijlacken Gingenspiel the twenty-seventh! The munchkin king was on the move! 40 Shmelmo's first instinct was to run for his insignificant spaniard life, but then he remembered an old fable his schitzophrenic grandmother used to tell him...

"Once upon a time, all was peace and tranquility [*whack* Listen to me you drooling little SOB!], and all peoples lived in slovenly defereptitude with their neighbors' long-haired mistresses (everyone, including the family pongle, had a long-haired mistress back then). They were happy little prune-packers, until one fateful day when someone sent a shipment of putrid prunes to the nearby kingdom of Prince Hupasniddle Umpijlacken Gingenspiel the twenty-seventh (who, because he was so cruel and black-hearted, never allowed anyone to abbreviate his name [which, coincidentially, would spell HUG] under penalty of death by mayonaise). So infuriated was the prince, that he immediately assembled his entire kingdom of frog-monkies (the only creature on the planet inbred enough to allow itself to be ruled by a munchkin whose initials spell the word 'hug') and ordered them to attack the colony of prune-packers, capture their long-haired mistresses, and reassemble at the crack of dawn in three days. His orders were heeded, and heeded well, so one thousand and one troops of frog-monkeys assembled at the crack of dawn (as imagined, it was still pretty dark, and very crowded, so by severe but unconsequential misfortune, one of the troops fell into the crack and was scorched to death, then eaten for breakfast by the troops who pushed them in [it was rumored that the cooked troops tasted remarkably like chicken-weasels]). They delivered unto the Munchkin prince no less than seven hundred and forty long-haired mistresses, who were then ordered to first go to the local hairdresser's to have their locks chopped to the lenghth of a shag (a sorry fate, indeed), then to bring their fallen tresses to the Prince's own hired HAT MAKER. The talented craftsman had been given detailed instructions on exactly how to create what was to be his finest masterpiece (and his last, as the cruel prince wished to have him executed immediately after he finished the task) -- large brim, small, four-planed bowl, and elaborate embroidery done with the red tresses. The prince's hat size ...[drumroll, please] thirty-two ignorant.

Schmelmo cried out in glee "I know how to reach my goal! I shall defeat the Munchkin prince and his troops, and capture the tress-hat of the mistresses for myself (then maybe seek out the mistresses, for I have had yet to get a piece in this lousy fable)! My hypothermic scalp shall be warmed yet once more! 41 "Not so damn fast..." came a voice from behind Schmelmo. Schmelmo felt a knot in his throat and a swelling in his groin. He whipped around to see the face he had hoped he'd never see again, the face of Don Jaun DeMarco.

"Thought I'd forget that we were supposed to meet last week, eh?"

"Actually," said Schmelmo "I was just thinking that people seem to have forgotten that I'm only 12 inches tall. I mean, it was only mentioned once in the story...just seems odd, you know? But there was one more thing I was wondering about. And that one thing is 42 wether i should now masturbate"so he did and cum splattered everywhere and hundereds of people drowned in a sea of cum. 43