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The Snoring Wife and Some Several Dwarfs

The knave stuck his finger into the pie and plucked a plum from the goo. His mother, an untamed tart, railed at the boy with such vigor that her shrieks broke a window in the kitchen and provided an entrance to some several dwarfs who had been loitering nearby waiting for their chance for some fresh baked goods.

These were not your norman dwarfs. These were nearly invisible dwarfs, perhaps the size of small flute fries. The diminutive dwarfs were refugees from Mondovia, an island which had seen its fortunes purloined by norman-sized people from the neighboring island of Fondordia.

The dwarfs had amassed a grape fortune from the delicate great vines which grew wildly all over Mondovia. The fruit of these vines was prized not only for its succulent flavor when eaten raw from a copper bowl, but because it could be spun into a wispy fabric ideal for making women's under garments and steering wheels for luxury automobiles.

The normans, having discovered that the dwarfs were neatly defenseless because, as you might have guessed, they were so small, raided the island of Mondovia at will, pillaging and plundering and pondering the fruit of the tiny island's ubiquitous vines.

Many dwarfs were tortured and killed and many of those killed, died. The dwarf population dwindled until only several were left. It was a dwarf debacle of giant proportions.

After the knave's mother had fully reamed the poor boy, she tried futilely to patch up the hole in the pie, but to no avail. The pie was ruined and hours of work lay in ruins on the counter in her tiny kitchen.

"What's a mother to do?" she asked, rhetorically. She had no more plums, very little flour, and no way to get to the nearby grocery stork, nearly severalteen miles away. Her addiction to plum pie would have to go unsatisfied until she could lay in flesh supply of plums, flour and ardor.

She had no means of transportation save her wretched, old feet. Her husband, having had his fill of her feet and her nagging and shrieking, took the family car and moved in with his life-long girlfriend, Hannah, who was mute and couldn't talk.

The knave's mother, realizing that the day was a total loss, lie down on her bed to find some solace in sleep. But, no solace was to be found, not even some. The knave's eardrums were still bleeding from the shrill sound of his mother's shrieking, and blood dripped wildly onto the freshly-waxed kitchen floor.

The knave knew, without a doubt, that his mother, if she stumbled upon those rivulets of blood flowing across her freshly scrubbed and waxed floor, would break out in hives and undulating twitches and begin to dance around in ceremonious convulsions, and end the demonstration of unrestrained anger in a stream of shrill, deafening shrieks and expletives which cannot be deleted.

The knave, who sometimes found a brave bone, decided to give his mother the white powder he had been hiding in the waistband of his underwear for over nine years. He had kept it hidden against the advent of just such an occasion, and he was mighty glad now that he had.

He approached his mother's room with much trepidation; he was fearful and unsure. He was not a brave kid.

He found his mother half-awake and approached her with the same caution as any man or boy would (and should) approach a nearly sleeping woman. His mother though was not as asleep as she looked, and upon seeing him tippy-toeing in, opened one of her eyes carefully, after all she did not want to spook the boy.

He held out his trembling hand and offered his mother the small box of white powder. She snatched the tiny silver box out of his hand with amazing alacrity, considering she was near sleep,  and snorted up its contents with a veracity that made the boy shudder with delight.

Her nose, twitching and thinly covered with fine white powder, fell silent for a moment as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep. Then, suddenly, she started snoring. The shrill snoring grew louder and louder until the boy, unable to stand the somniferous snortings, ran screaming from the room, his eardrums bleeding and his stomach filled with nausea and several putrefying pieces of undigested plums, remnants from his earlier philandering.

The dwarfs, having finished the rest of the unattended plum pie, heard the snoring and being nosey, even for dwarfs, sneaked into the bedroom to see what or who was causing these awful bellowing sounds.

They clamored onto the bed and crawled around on the sleeping mother, until the finally reached the source of the noise, her powdered nose.

"What is this white stuff on her nose?", said Nosey, one of the several dwarfs. "I don't know," said Bumpy, "but it makes my tongue numb when I lick it!" "Really?" said Limpy? "Let me try it!". So the several dwarfs took turns licking the sleeping nose and making their tongues numb.

The dwarfs, with their tongues tingling and numb, started flailing around with their arms akimbo, chortling with absolute glee. After several moments they fell silent and rolled off her nose and unto her pimpled neck and fell asleep.

The knave, snickering, pulled the fake blood bags out of his ears and set off on a journey to join his father at Hannah's house. He'd had his eye on Hannah's slatternly young daughter for many a month, and now, filled with a new sense of courage, bolstered by his newfound manhood, and fueled by those ubiquitous hormones of youth, he was ready to make his move.

And, now you know the real story of the Snoring Wife and Some Several Dwarfs.


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