Socks woke up with the morning light to find himself lying on Seamus’ crotch, of whom was passed out on a wooden bar table. He had to admit, he rather enjoyed the feeling of waking up with his head where it was.
“Ah, hyvää huomenta” Felicity sighed mechanically. Socks couldn’t help but notice the language in which Felicity was speaking. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t quite catch that” he said. “Puhallettu alkoholi, tama koko ajan” Felicity scowled. The last time she had been reprogrammed into Finnish, it took about a month for the blasted fool to realise he had to press the giant red Language Switch button her back. Blasted alcohol.
(Now dear readers, there is a point in every fishes life when there is a certain amount of eating he is required to do. With out this, he would most definitely die. Now, I wouldn’t suck it.)
“EXCUSE ME EVERYONE, MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION!” A rather odd policeman asked as he smoked some pot. The crowd woke up and began eating their breakfast rather quickly. “I WAS WONDERING IF THERE WAS A MAN NAMED SOCKS IN HERE?” he asked, looking around. His eyes darted around the bar, and within a matter of seconds, Socks was spotted.
“THERE YOUR AR- BLOODY HELL! STOP IN THE NAME OF THE LAW!” he yelled, as socks jumped up, pulled his gumboots on and dashed out of the pub, ducking and weaving through the astonished crowd.
You see, Socks was an illegal fugitive. He was born into horrible destitution in Norweija, and at the age of 10 had escaped on the back of a Canadian Moose. He swam the ocean on the back of a Norwegian Ridgeback and had slept inside a shoe for 15 years before being rescued by Seamus, who introduced him to a life of prostitution, stripping and pole dancing, and naked oil wrestling. It was a wonderful life, and after a simply delightful holiday in Gondor, they had been married by Severus Snape, slept in a hammock, and now resided in Seamus’ house. Between them they owned 1500 guns, 12 battleships, and had raised a family of Pomeranians in their garden. They now sold a particularly delicious perfume called “C.B”, an abbreviation that was yet to be revealed. They enjoyed chocolate raspberries on shoelaces and asked a man for a penny each and every time they heard someone say “MacBeth”.
It was indeed an accomplished life to live. However that is a whole other story, a story which in fact will be told in full detailed in say… Chapter Seven.
