There are five houses. The first house is on the left. The longshoreman lives in the red house. The economist owns the basset hound. Tea is drunk in the green house. The fireman drinks bourbon. The green house is immediately to the right of the ivory house. The octopus owner reads history books. Science fiction is read in the yellow house. Milk is drunk in the middle house. The detective lives in the first house. The man who reads biographies lives in the house next to the man with the anteater. Science fiction is read in the house next to the house where the squirrel is kept. The magazine reader drinks antifreeze. (Bad habit, really.) The general reads Shakespeare. The detective lives next to the blue house. Now, here's your quiz: Who drinks water? And who owns the weasel?
Lord blessed the latter part of Job's life more than the first. He had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, a thousand yoke of oxen, and a thousand donkeys. And he also had several sons and three daughters. The first daughter was named Dove, the second Cinnamon and the third Eyeshadow Kit. Nowhere in all the land were there found women as beautiful as
And Alatar ignored Pallando's warnings yet again, and opened the first McDonald's; and so another cult began. And Pallando wept; and stood alone upon the parking lot, and called to the West, and said, 'O great Powers! Can even the sorrows of Nienna grant us pity for this evil deed?'; and he threw himself upon the pavement. Yet from the West there came no reply
He grabbed Steinfrau's nose. There was nothing for it now; he had to hang on, hang on for dear life, or else the mad German would be gone and there would be no way to prove his innocence. Steinfrau tried to roll up the window of the moving cab, but with a massive lunge he managed to jam his free hand in and around the crank; the pressure on his arm was terrible, but the window stopped in mid-rise, and the extra handgrip helped him hang on as the cab increased its speed. They were heading toward Midtown. There was a chance, a bare chance; if he could hook his ankle around the fence at the 59th Street sidewalk café he might be able to slow them down. But would he be able to? People were screaming, throwing things; there were angry shouts from theatregoers and commuters, traffic cops pointed at him and swore. Steinfrau seemed to be egging them on, damn him.