I saw a moose once. He told me of a magical land where lollipops and sunshine are the norm. Dishes and spoons don’t have to run away to be happy, and the kiwi’s and the banana’s sing happy songs about walnuts. A place where no one judges how you wear your fake mustache or how poorly you play hackey sack. The Royal Order of Fluffy Squirrels (TROoFS!!!) are on guard for your taco’s safety. Clocks run backwards (but only because that’s how their legs are positioned) they are nice and wave as they go by. Yes this is a place where you can be free to do as you would do.
He went on to tell me that the best way to get to this magical, beautiful paradise was to make a left at right due north-south. Follow the wise howler monkey with the rabbit growing out of his hat. It will lead you past the pit of wild toasters to a door marked with a stick of gum. Once you open the door you will step into an area that doesn’t look a thing like the back of your hand or western France. Close your eye’s and think about what you did to that poor mime. You sick bastard. Then move on and ask the keeper of the kidney stone to let you by and when it grins you will find yourself in a giant pudding cup. Spin three times, formulate a thesis on ligers and their strange love of lava lamps, and say nice things about your cat and you will finally arrive in that magical land.
I went there once.
I found a rock!