Roxy: Skip to the end.

herbert took a swipe at the clumsy yet elusive skubbump. the orb ducked under his arm and shambled on its way like a husky beetle with some stuff to do over there. the crowd of almost-people roared generically at the almost-snatch. the maneuver if successful would have locked the score at 'queen six love' which REALLY would have been just. WOW. somethin else. possibly exciting? herbert still didnt quite understand the rules for the game. and judging by the antics of all the other boobs on their floating wooden horses, the author didnt either.

herbert struggled to turn his horse around to pursue the skubbump, but his mount of rigid lumber was unresponsive. as much as he reminded himself he just couldnt get used to fact that the story was in control of the horse. dead ahead was the leagues elite drudsel scooper, who was fussing with the laces on her gimmidge horn while her horse idled. she looked up.

"herbert watch where youre going!"

"i cant. i think the book wants us to crash."

beatrix thought about it. she almost kicked the sides of her inert stallion to prod it along but caught herself. "do we really have to?"

herbert shrugged. another solid half minute of awkward horse advancement went by before the creaking oaken collision. herbert tumbled through the air and hit the grass pitch hard on his back. beatrix landed on top him. they found each other face to face.

"is she serious with this?" she asked regarding the hella subtle way the author decided to craft this situration*. situation. is was like, popetry in motion. plus hornses(???)

"im afaid* so. i think the story is builting romantic tension between us."

"it IS?" it was not a question. but a statement of major concorn. *cern

"yeah. it it establushing* the groundwork for romance beween our characaters. its sort of the one token heroterosexual** romance in the book. we probably jush have to ride it out"

beautrix dinit* dint kno whaf*T the felling of collor red wash.... but

she cloun*cloud*COULD swear the fleling

she could swar

the felling


ws crepping

ontoo. herrrrrf.



> Roxy: Doint write whilt dronk.