| abstract
| - "Famine outbursts where resources don't," opened the monocle bearing representative of Flying Flamingos, "and I seem to have quite the outbursts when it comes to shrimp." He didn't have shrimp when he said that, and so the meeting was adjourned, only to be reconvened the following day when he had acquired shrimp "The French really do have good shrimp along their coast, it's a shame poverty doesn't provide such delicious dishes. The French really don't understand reality; surrealism is such a disaster. Really, if I'd wanted to make money, I'd've robbed a bank. I sincerely felt that the demographics of dead people, and people dying from that awful scientific experiment, needed something in their life they were missing. They were rather impoverished of life, so I figured I'd write some pieces, like The Elephant & the Shrimp," he stopped a moment to swallow the numerous shrimp he'd engourged while giving his expositionary self gratitude. After that moment, he coughed a shrimp out onto the table of those whom he was patronizing; he adjourned for the day "The whole fickle pickle epidemic really was quite random, a bit too random, for my tastes of capitalization," he'd since blended the shrimp, "but a flamingo has to know when a safe bet is safe, and this safe bet was safe: a random start with an obvious end. You think of how ridiculous people are to drink poison through a funnel, and it doesn't seem so odd for them to start tying down a fickle pickle when they get a hold of one. There's so many pickles, and there's so many drunks, that it really wasn't that hard to give a shout out for pickle fungus kits. By the time they'd figured out how to handle that all without the kit, the government had finally gotten around to banning pickle fungus. They were so high themselves on the stuff that they failed to figure out that the fungicide was more of a pesticide. They really shouldn't've experimented with fickle pickle fungus for inspiration on the scientific formula for that fungicide. That gave an outburst of famine. Starving people don't seem very profitable, though I assure you they are, so France got itself a case of poverty. But really, you know what people like? Shrimp. So I wrote some fairy tales, like The Truce Of Shrimp, which sold rather well." He stopped to give that last awful sound made when someone decides to suck the last out of a glass with a straw. When he'd finished, he was quite out of breath, so one of the patrons decided to ask, "Sir, where are your associates?" The flamingo spat the straw into the inquirer's eye and adjourned the evening. At this point they realized that there were no Flying Flamingos socialist group, and so did not arrive the following day
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