Many, many years ago, there was a man named… Gerald. He lived in a tree, was 47 years old, and had 3 children, he is, in fact, in no way related to this story, so forget I mentioned him.
But there was a man named Bob, and he was the one that I had been looking for, for that long journey in the woods, so many, many years ago… I stumbled through the brush–brush as in plants, not the bristles of a gigantic hairbrush– in search of the most famous blacksmith in the land… I used my machete to slash another limb–limb as in the limb of a tree, not somebody’s body part–and I saw it! It was a small shack, unremarkable in every regard, except for the fact that it was surrounded by ice and snow, a strange phenomenon curiously caused by constant snow clouds remaining directly above the clearing in the forest where this shack stood. I warily approached the door, and with 3 decisive motions, I knocked on the door. I could hear a crashing sound from within, what seemed to be the roar of a tiger, and the wailing of a humpback whale. Steam leaked out of a small hole in the wall like a teakettle. Then, as if a gust of wind had hit it, it slammed open, all at once.
