and the paper got replaced. Meanwhile Mr Sandman was fighting a war, a war against the mad dumper. The mad dumper was a viscous being, filled with hatred for anything that was not passed through mammalian life forms before being deposited in his home. Mr. Sandman's only weapon against the mad dumper was filtration. They met in battle at the drainage field to fight to the death. Mr. Sandman, dressed in a hazmat suit, held aloft his brand new Dunnes Stores aluminium strainer. "It works on pasta, certainly it will work on feces", he thoug ght thoughtfully. He marched over to the enormous pile of feces, bent over, and plunged the strainer down on top of it, grinding back and forth for maximum effect. When he was fini shed straining the feces he sat down to think. What had his life become? He was straining feces in a hazmat suit. Where had he gone wrong? He took a left at Mercer, he knew that wa s it. Everybody said Luton was the UK's Albuquerque but he knew it was really Mercer. You don't take a left at Albuquerque. He had, in Mercer. So, hazmat suit straining shit. Swing Low, Sweet Chariot was hummed by the crew that had to disinfect that hazmat suit. Realizing he had made a wrong turn, he tore off the stinking suit, ran naked through the carwash, slipped on a premature fledgling's dying body, and ended up by crashing into a station wagon of nuns that was behind him in the carwash. One nun flies out. Another sings an escape. Nun of the above escaped totally unscathed, but at least nobody was killed. The nuns were shipped to a rehabilitation center in the Antarctic, where their troubles really began...



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