The Fable of the Austrian Associate and His Seemingly Endless Streams of Articles
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Our story ends here: our hero is shot in the face by an angry, disillusioned mob. Emotional progressive rock plays in tribute, but the stereo is switched off by the fingers of envy. All there is left is silence, and his manuscripts. One was thrown on a bonfire, the others were deleted. As always, writing culminates in tragedy. The few left gathered around his corpse and urinated. The irony was, most of his articles were about toilet functions. It was almost as bitter as the aftertaste.
Tubular Bells
Sometime in the pre-pre-historic age, our protagonist was born. During her pregnancy and throughout her birth, his mother played Mike Oldfield's song "Tubular Bells" to her stomach every day, hoping she will breed a new Satan, or, failing that, at least prevent him from editing Illogicopedia. The first point is somewhat debatable, however, his mother failed in her attempts at the second part.
Once, whilst playing in his garden innocently - bringing rocks down on snails, plotting genocide, pruning roses and whatnot - a snake lowered itself by talking to him - well, it had far better things to do, things to go, places to do... in fact, it was due at the palace for a knighthood, but the only superior thing to it itself was its master Procrastination - and everything exploded in a shower of gay. EPIC!!!!