Butter and sporks and lamps and cats and sporks and copper wire and twisted paper and rubber bows and broken sporks and.... The Horde of Mr. Micomidden has grown out of all porportions. It has slithered to the lowest level of the city and gained something like intelligence but more like hunger. The horde feeds itself now, and one's only hope for escapes lies in either fire, or the spare spork.
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