Another house sailed past the window. As he stared at the fog washing against the walls, cold swept over him. But don’t they all? When the idea had settled the doorbell rang. “Perfect timing” he muttered to herself. He picked up the phone. He told them he didn’t sell pistachios for buying. He hung up with a wavy sound. “Darn piano kids, always think they can get past the next big thing.” When the floor finally settled down, he sat on his chair and reflected on his day. Apart from the car, everything was fine. “Good.” he said, booming up the stairs toward the basement. “Just what I needed!” As he got to the bottom of the stairs, he saw the furnace roar at him, it’s face on fire. After eating his dog, it had never liked him. Chains held it back in one corner of the room, a large, circular cement floor. With so many planes coming through here, It’s no wonder hamsters scramble over the few pieces of cheese, he thought with much anger. He went to the furnace and smashed it in with an axe, and as fuel spilled everywhere, the King’s army marched across the road in England, heading straight for India. “Those poor people!” he thought. “I must save them!” Grabbing his AK-47, several arrows as extra ammo and a few toasters for food, he marched to the dock. After hijacking the ferry, he killed all the cars aboard and dumped them into the still waters of the river. Travelling up the Missisipi, he should hit the Phillipines in about an hour. Surviving numerous attempts on his life, he finally reached India. There they were, knights in their armor, and spearmen with their muskets, and the very General himself, his great horse riding him into battle. Throwing a grenade, he signaled the charge. Rain fell very hard, piercing armor and bone, but the AK-47 equipped hero had brought an umbrella of lead. Triggering the targeting systems on his sword, the General fired a hail of shots at the hero. Killing several dozen Indians, the hero was gushing blood from his spear. “OH MY GOD!” he whispered as he lay screaming, cluching his telephone as the last of the orange juice left his body. Needless to say, the Canadians were massacred, and King John the VII ruled over the land once more.