Disclaimer: I did not write this. My friend gave it to me as a present and suggested I post in on my account for him.I have edited it slightly. I didn't change any words, I just made some different choices with regards to punctuation and paragraph spacing. I doubt you even remember writing this Mr. Kashi. It was a. Long. Interesting. Night. At work I mean.

Hem. I am responsible for the title. I may use it again, if I ever seriously get into nonsense writing. Or Language Poetry.

And Lobstee is not a typo. If you don't get the reference, then good for you. If you're deadly curious then Google it.

I Have Titled It Lobstee In Ducksauce

Jack ran to the spot where his mother (who was the captain of the British Navy and ruled with an iron bagel) had planted the olive tree. He decided that olives weren't that delicious and they transformed into plums. The innards of the plums tasted like cheeseburgers (which of course was how they always tasted) with a slight hint of mandarin orange.

At this point in his life, Jack realised he'd crashed his aunt's prized Mercedes into the 52nd floor of the Empire State Building, and perhaps he had made some immoral, incorrect choices in the placid existence he dared to call a feasible life. After all, kindergarten started tomorrow and there was absolutely no way he would allow Suzy Atherton, or her diseased rabbits to take away his chances at becoming the best female figure skater this side of the River Stix.

He coughed, causing the couple sitting three-point-five feet away on a park bench to burst into a ballad of “Mrs. Robinson” before transforming and bursting into a startling array of aquamarine, crimson and periwinkle butterflies.

Elvis was not impressed.

Jack than stood up, gazing at the cheeseburger-plumtree and contemplated why exactly he had set out for this particular spot in the first place. Inspiration sparked at that very moment as an insignificant mosquito whispered Edger Allen Poe's “The Telltale Heart” into his left nostril.

It was SPRING!

That meant the doves would be dropping the bubblewrap on every newlywed in Kentucky. Oh, what a glorious season! Jack rejoiced by breaking his leg and eating a cereal made from razorblades and acid. It was a sad day in Tinseltown. That's when Jack woke up, sweating furiously into his pillow and swearing to never partake of day-old-sardine-pizza again.

Thanks for the present Kakashi my lovey! I'll watch Naratu one day. Maybe. Probably not.