Poo-gofferson the Spij?kenian Nekroklown and Tiny Tirdly the Krapaterian Orphan had been trudging for several Earth-hours through a sweaty forest. The big-eyed small boy found it harder and harder to keep pace with the large-footed Poo-go, and finally fell sprawling over the roots of a large stinknut-bearing fleshtree. The squat nekroklown squatted down next to him.

  "Heading to the land of Nod, Tiny Tirdly?" giggled the nekroklown, licking two jagged fingernails and touching Tiny Tirdly's eyelids gently. "Well, then, let's go to bed. It's too dark to go on, anyway."

  "I don't see any cots," sighed Tiny Tirdly.

  "Neither do I," giggled the nekroklown, "but we'll just pretend we're humped bladderworts, and sleep on the ground." The bulbous, brownish-grey nekroklown raked a pile of skinleafs together under a thick fleshtree (gammon-colored with magenta sores and reddish-purple scabs). He removed his slug costume, folding it neatly and putting down for a pillow. Then the alien clown placed the brown orphan carefully in the center of the crude bed.

  "Are there any rabid meatidongs in these woods?" asked Tiny Tirdly, looking around fretfully. It was quite dark now, and the brown moonlight filtering through the forest’s fleshtrees’ pulsating branches, flaking skin-leafs, and bushy black hairtops made queer shapes out of all the shadows.

  "This isn't a meatidong forest, rabid or no," giggled Poo-go positively, as he hunkered down next to the boy. "From the smell I think it's a harmless crab forest. Don’t panic, that reminds me of a fable I used to know. Come here.”

  Reaching over with his long skeletal fingers Poo-Go pulled the little boy into his big, lumpy lap. The nekroklown’s huge compound eyes twinkled like red dusted diamonds as he rocked back and forth and began to talk-sing Tiny Tirdly a bedtime story.

  Meanwhile a scruffy black-and-white dog-shaped yokai was plodding among the fleshtrees. Like Montana Shingles’ pal Vira he had a pair of glistening antennae sprouting from his head. The mutt- who had sort of a graying alien hobo face- was sniffing the ground, occasionally chewing some of the dandruff piles that had collected on the forest floor. He seemed very interested in what he was doing but at the same time not at all in a hurry. He started to let out a long weeny fart that smelt of yakberries, but stopped the fart short when he heard a giggling voice coming from behind a tree up ahead:

  “Some crabs are extroverted and love public speaking

  Some crabs are introverts with secrets for keeping

  But private crabs aren’t deceitful or mean

  They just prefer solitude over being seen

  Like the crab that’s alone on the top of the moon

  Did you know Planet Sifillis is like a balloon?

  The crab holds a line so we won’t float away

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  He must stay awake all night and all day

  If he loses the string that’s connected to Sifillis

  We’d float into the sun and that would sure kill us

  But he must not close his claw all together

  If it closes too tight he’ll sever the tether

  The effort this takes is really quite stressful

  This private crab’s miserable although he’s successful

  He stares into the void, tortured and haunted

  Wishing he never answered that ad in Help Wanted...

  So, Tiny Tirdly, the moral of the story is: Don’t put yourself in a situation where you have to be constantly tense to avoid disappointing other people.”

  Tiny Tirdly, leaning drowsily against Poo-go's prodigious stomach, thought he had never heard anything so interesting. He had never sat on a real lap before, nor had a story told especially for him, let alone one that rhymed. So the little boy snuggled down contentedly, his then his eyes straying to the brown, croissant-shaped moon, just visible above the tree tops. Why, there was a large intestine in the sky, a bright shiny long intestine leading up to the moon, and a private crab had one end held tight in his claw, but not too tight!

  "Fast asleep," muttered the nekroklown, holding the small child a bit tighter. Poo-go meant to keep awake, for he was not so sure there were no meatidongs in this dank forest, but the day's experiences had so tired him that, in a short time, he was sound asleep himself. Phlegmy snores emanated from his wide mouth, which had tiny sores on the fleshy lips.

  The eavesdropping dog, whose name was Franklin Delano Roosedog, liked Poo-go’s story very much. He moved closer to the strange duo and held his nose close to Tiny Tirdly and sniffed. Then he snorted outwardly, blowing a fine mist of his snot and saliva on the orphan’s angelic face.

  Frank plopped down and watched them for a while in silence. The nekroklown's story had pleased the old boy very much. Eventually he wiggled his whiskers wisely and made up his mind to protect the two strangers from all harm. Fortunately for Poo-Go and Tiny Tirdly this happened to be an enchanted dog.

  First Frank silently farted a thaumaturgic charm that caused him to grow a dozen times his regular size. Then he lifted a rear leg and excreted a stream of dark yellow urine onto our slumbering friends for about forty-five seconds, following which he shrunk back down to his normal dimensions and ambled away, thinking about food and mailmen.

  And though many rabid meatidongs and spiny lumpsuckers and tasseled wobbegongs and flatulating weremummies came snuffling past that night, they dared not approach Poo-Go and Tiny Tirdly, for the mighty Franklin Delano Roosedog had marked his territory and that told them plainly it was "claws off", for they knew the mysterious canine possessed a great many thaumaturgic secrets. So grumbling and growling, they went searching further into the fleshwood forest for their dinners.

  Quite unconscious of the dangers they had slept through, Poo-go and Tiny Tirdly awoke almost at the same minute as the pink, peach-shaped sun broke through some grey cumulus clouds.

  "Well," yawned Poo-go with a giggle, "we're still here, I see.” Then he noticed he was very damp and thought with alarm that his chronic bed-wetting problem must’ve returned.

  Tiny Tirdly rubbed his eyes, then stretched. Then he noticed he was very damp and thought with alarm that his chronic bed-wetting problem must’ve returned.

  Each was so embarrassed neither ever mentioned their morning moistness to the other.