An epic journey from the North Pole to the North Pole whereby . . .
The Sardine Sock Struggle, Part One


Once upon a glacier, three swashbuckling Heads of State met. Over tea and crumpets, they pondered the philosophical implications of the evenings' Northern Lights, as reflected in the kitchen sink.

The Garrulous Taciturn Oracle of the Absurd had surrepticiously traced the outline of the ghostly sky's diaphanous multicolored streamers, when a crumb fell and broke in an astoundingly revelatory pattern upon the glistening eggshell bowl of the aforementioned sink, which itself was cradled in the bow of their kayak, melliflously named "Zephyr".

"Hmm," said GTOOTA (better known as the Garrulous taciturn Oracle of the Absurd) "this kitchen sink crumb is telling me it is time for action!" She looked queriously at the Intrepid Explorer.

"Right-o" trumpeted she, "Is it not time to consult our splendifferously spiffy Magic 8 Ball, as to the adventure of the day? Philosopher King, would you be so kind as to bequeath the specially splendid standard starry-eyed strictly shrink-wrapped salacious snack-sized swift-seeing super sonographic sundial slinky spectacles, sir?"

The Philosopher King, third in the swashbuckling trio, nodded his assent. He reached under the Bellicose Bassoon for the aforementioned bidimensional specs, where they ALWAYS were.

"Holey Pugnacious Pickled Porcupine Pie! They've vanished into slightly thin (due to elevation, of course) air!

"AaaaaaaaaaAaaaaAAAAAArrrrrrggghhhh!" chorused the trio.

"Phil," GTOA sighed, "This unfortunate and confusing catastrophe indubitably calls for a NAP."

Whereupon, napping ensued, followed by milk and cookies.

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