It was late Clafton Calfton, when Gimrod The Shaven slid his end into the vacuum unit and expressed the last of his seepage into the blue tincture. “Funny feeling has touched my mind” he thought, as he withdrew from the unit and re-attached his special place. Gimrod had been expressing since the twelth moon had shown it’s face to the Glandular One, and at this point had lost almost half his not insubstantial body weight.
At that moment the horn of Glatifrago ruptured the air and sent Gimrod flying, bodily against the vacuum unit. “Must be lunchtime” he said to the collection of dead Flafnoughts that had gathered themselves around his erect stalk.