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- As I am writing this it has been about 6 months since this trip took place, I can't remember much of it, but luckilly the night it happened I managed to write the whole shbang down so that future generations could enjoy it. Some of the writing is in a strange alien language, but the better part of it is decipherable. So here it is;

On this night of January the First, Two-thousand, Myself and Mr. Christopher Daniel Arnodaun crossed paths at the Black Sheep authentic English Pub. It was there that we enjoyed a beer and a rousing match of billiards. (In here there is a drawing of an eight-ball with mean fangs chasing a Volkswagon Beetle around what looks like the rings of a cube-shaped planet) At one point we decided that it would be prudent to take it upon ourselves to consume a certain amount of hallucinagenic mushrooms. Which we did. Make way for the pimp. Pimp-o-rama. does he have any answers? No, all he has is whores. FROM THERE we waltzed like Merry gentlemen over to Mel Lastman Square (Picture of a square) and from there we smoked a Cannabis - - or rather CONSUMED tetra-hydra-cannabinal in the form of a laymans marijuana cigarette. Upon closer inspection of the surroundings, we discovered hockey players and miscellaneous ice-skaters. They became kicked off the property by a middle-eastern low-life wife-beating rent-O-cop. But enough about that. The important thing is that we eventually discovered a lovely BMW. Unfortunately, it was afflicted with a parking violation certificate. What to do? We decided to relocate the aforementioned certificate onto an older, more dilapidated auto. I believe it was a Buick by Dodge. The purpose of this experiment was to ensure that the rich man suffered undue consequences for outstanding parking violation, while the poor man would stumble upon this ticket where and while he was legally parked. Two lives destoyed in one fell swoop. BUT THATS NOT OWL. (This section is made up of circular characters, I don't know what it means, but it doesnt look like I made it) soberiety in the heartland of Arkansas? Perhaps they were drunk when they raised the flag. Next, after having some fun in the parking lot playing games with a shopping cart and a frozen puddle, we came to a revelation. A shopping cart needed to be hurdled into the abyss that was the unfinished subway line. So with a heave and with a ho, we managed to clear the Dominion Save-A-Centre shopping cart up and over the fence and sent it clattering down into the construction zone. Then we collapsed in laughter and stayed that way for twenty-one minutes and four seconds. We hope that some poor construction worker will happen upon the shopping cart tomorrow and lose his job when he cannot get it back up to surface level. The moral of the story is; Myself and Christopher Daniel Arnodaun are a couple of heartless bastards on mushrooms who enjoy playing foolish tricks. We are not pimps. We are not pimps. We are pimps. Or pimporama. I belmieve my pen is running out of ink. (Then several long horizontal lines, the ink visibly running out to the end of the page) THE END (Written in what looks like crusty jam)