This man. This man you know as Garth. He can jump high. Real High.
Ted looked down at the ground. It was covered in chocolate. He liked to eat the roof cake. Wichita roofing cake, made with nails and sharp objects, but still just as edible as a pair of baby dolphins.
It was an unfortunate mistake. He didn't realize the vat of chocolate was so close to the edge.
Now it was dripping off the roof. He had strapped himself in the chair, on top of the roof, and anchored himself to the chimney. It did not matter anymore. He would have to find a Wichita roofing contractor. One that could clean up his roof, and punch a dolphin in the face as well.
He did not have his phone. He did not own a phone for that matter. The only thing he owned was a 1993 Ford Phantom. This was a car. A car that did not really exist.
He had made up this car in order to get from place to place, where the deer and the antelope play. In the unlikely event that the roof over his head would be covered in chocolate, a small bit of half and half would be added to all the coffee in the world, but most would fall upon the roofs of Wichita, and drip over the fascia and into the yards of the Wichitan's he knew.
