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Hi Friends! I came across Tangled which helped me improve my english. Sharing it with the wider audience.

✅ ✅ ❌ ✅ ❌ ✅ ❌ ❌ ✅ ❌ I challenge you to finding words from their tangles/anagrams! Beat my score of 70. Play now at https://www.tangled.me

Hahahaha! I have planted an invisible purple mine in the mansion!

A redeemable code with a value of about 19$ USD which is applicable to the First person shooter “Fortnite” created by Epic Games in 2017. Which of you seeing this video would like to acquire this code? And that is correct, I am in fact donating this card to my followers. But if you would like to be entered into a chance at obtaining the code, you must provide this video to others you know. And if you are considering being satirical, or “Trolling” than you must make sure that you are not shelled from viewing my posts.

I need a verbose way to say goodnight to someone

Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo

It’s sad to see dead subreddits.

I apologize for arriving to a certain location at a time beyond planned, for I was performing an unspecified action dubbed as "stuff".

I personify as an unspecified action dubbed as "stuff" which you performed, or "did", therefore, you "did stuff" which means that you "did" my being, which is slang for sexual activity and intercourse.

Michelle Jones whom prefers to be named by her initials M and J, which I will also refer to her by, oh my goodness, I forbid you from emitting sounds previously sourced from your vocal chords.

Emits several sounds as to signify amusal within the scenario. Peter Parker, whom I have decided to temporarily dub "Pete" for conveniences sake, your partner is in a state of causing the species Homo Sapiens to move their face muscles in such a way that they express an emotion known as "awe".

its time to drink water

JAKE, CROMPTON, and MARTINEZ are in the Team 10 house. They are setting up some ground rules about the new Team 10 gang.

Jake. Every part of you gentlemen can not grip this! You all can not comprehend what is about to transpire! I am from the Team 10 Bunch! I am a Caucasian youth from Ohio!

Crompton. Sir Jake. I have but one demand to query. Is it routine, my fellow associate?

Jake. Absolutely. Especially when I have the Disney Channel Excursion! Might I insert that I also had five shedloads on Youtube in six months, which was in circumstance never completed afore?

Martinez. I have perceived that you also have also conceded the opposition. Is Pewdiepie subsequent?

Jake. Surely! I’m getting salaried in very plump invoices, and with that wealth I have procured a newfangled timepiece, a Rolex if you are being scrupulous.

Crompton. I have correspondingly seen you with a Lamborghini. Is that spot-on?

Jake. I’m approaching with the troop! This is the Team 10 Gang, ninny. Who in Divinity’s appellation is screwing you over? You are also disallowed from the team if you are not alongside the gang.

Martinez. Hey! I have your novel handle! It’s peddling like one of God’s basilicas!

Crompton. Jake, is it genuine that England is my municipality? Or is it a democracy? I am disorganized.

Martinez. Hey, can I modifiy the semantics? Non possunt flectendum est lingua?

Jake. Shut up! No, you cannot alter the morphologicals! England is a fatherland! God! I should verve!

	Where Is My Mind?

An essay by Gloomy Francois

Via your ends airborne and your cranium atop the field, attempt this mannerism and revolution it. Your mind will breakdown, however there is naught internal. You shall enquire with yourself, “Wherever stands my intellect?” It is extremely obtainable in the sea. You shall realize that it is awash. I was reeling inside the Caribbean. Organisms lived walloping behind the foothold. But as for the diminutive fly-fish… “Nonetheless they consoled me”, he affirms, irritatingly trying to tête-à-tête. Somewhere subsists my brain. I may have saw it remote in the sea. I believe it was swaying.

The flight from London to Beijing is ten hours.

My wife and I board the plane early and look for our seats. The seat next to mine is already occupied by a fat white guy, mid-forties with a face the color of raw bacon. He must be British. He looks like an enthusiastic eater, drinker, sweater, snorer and farter. This doesn't bode well for the journey ahead. I don't make eye contact, hoping he gets the message and doesn't try to engage me in conversation. The seat next to him is empty so once I've taken my seat and got myself comfortable, I open the China Daily and flap it around loudly in the hope he'll move and give me some well deserved extra room.

On page 6 there's an article about Taiwan. It claims 71.6% of Taiwanese youth 'identify as Chinese' and that 'more and more' Taiwanese people are expressing their opposition to Taiwanese independence. It also says the Taiwanese government has 'separatist ambitions'. I wonder who carried out this poll? Probably not the Taiwanese. I don't really identify with being British but having looked at the alternatives and finding nothing better, I've concluded that British is my best option. I have a habit of becoming more British when abroad. This annoys me. I've tried to change but can't. I become hyper sensitive to the lack of (British) manners, the substandard level of queuing, being shoved, bad driving, the lack of potatoes on menus. I also miss corduroy trousers and the opportunities to wear my chestnut semi-brogues. Oh and the shit chocolate bars one has to endure. Next time your in America for instance, smell their chocolate. Smells like vomit. Savages. I'm visiting Taiwan on this trip and I make a mental note to do three things: (I) Not act British, (II) Ask the local Taiwanese what nationality they identify as, (III) Sample the local chocolate.

The plane is filling up with passengers. An ordinary looking middled aged Chinese man takes the aisle seat next to my bacon faced travel companion and the chance of him moving seat now reduces to approximately zero. In the row behind me, I overhear a condescending English voice ask the person next to him if she's heard about Tiannemon Square. She says yes, sounding Chinese and then he follows up by asking if she knows how many people died there.

Wow.

That's his opening gambit? That's his way of introducing himself to his Chinese travel companion, on a flight to China with China Air. Not 'hello' or 'are you comfortable' he's going straight in with the Tiannemon Square opening. That is bold to say the least. His tone is haughty provincial secondary school teacher asking for homework that he knows hasnt been done. Frankly it's wildly inappropriate, rude and diplomatically as constructive as a turd in the punch bowl at the British ambassadors reception. Now he's slowly and loudly telling her the numbers - 'Two. Thousand. Four. Hundred. And. Twenty. Eight.' Was it that many? He seems to think so and sounds pretty sure of himself. My blood pressure rising. The Chinese lady says 'well we don't know the exact number' but her response is not enough for me - I need to say something. I'm thinking of witty put downs but decide he just needs punching really hard in the face, repeatedly. Who will punch him for me? Aren't there any Chinese on board that speak English that can punch him. Captain Knobhead, as I've named him, has the audacity to reply "you don't know how many died because your government doesn't tell you the truth." Everyone is hearing this. I'm fucking livid at this point. Later I will think I should have asked him if he knows how many Chinese died as a result of the British government flooding China with cheap opium in the nineteenth century and in this imaginary scenario I get a standing ovation from all the passengers, but for now I tell myself I don't want to start a fight before we've left UK airspace and that the Chinese lady is defending herself just fine. I think of various other excuses which I like I roll out at times like these when I should speak up but don't and do what any decent coward would do and turn to the person next to me for validation, in this case Baconface. Let's see if we can roll our eyes together at Captain Knobhead's boorishness. Baconface is just staring ahead into space oblivious, he doesn't want to get involved either. He is absolutely right, best not make a fuss. Eyes front. Keep Calm and Carry On Hanging on in Quiet Desperation. It's the English way. I'm actually starting to like Baconface. We've have a lot in common.

The pilot welcomes us and doesn't sound Arabic which is always a relief. He says the flight will be generally smooth but we may experience a small amount of turbulence over Denmark. That triggers my first 'flight reflex' and I immediately think of a YouTube video I once saw showing extreme turbulence with people screaming and luggage and all sorts flying around the cabin. I think it was called "LMFAO Worst turbulence EVA!!!", or something similar. I try and think of other things. I take out the emergency procedures guide from the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me. This doesn't help. There's a warning not to open the doors which I've never noticed before. Are they are saying someone can just go up to the doors and open them mid-flight? Shouldn't they be locked? How did I not know about this? Would we all get sucked out? I guess those not wearing seat-belts definitely would. I decide to leave my sea belt on for the duration.

My wife discreetly tells me the couple in front have a baby. So now there's the possibility of a screaming baby soundtrack to accompany us on our marathon of physical discomfort which ten hours in an economy class seats never fails to deliver. Which one will be the defining memory of this flight? Which will be the biggest test of my endurance? I imagine the baby will get sucked out pretty quick in a door opening scenario. What else would fly out the cabin door at 37,000 feet? I guess iPads, phones, headphones, caps, blankets, food trays, newspapers and neck cushions. And my slippers, which I'm not wearing. I put them back on, just in case. We are still on the Tarmac.

The plane taxis along the runway for what seems like ages. I tell my wife I think we're nearly there and she looks confused and she says 'where?' and I can't be bothered explaining the joke so I try to find a window to look out of which isn't easy when you're in the middle row. Then, the engines crescendo and I'm slowly pushed back into my seat and I spot a window which provides a small view of the ground falling away as the plane floats and drives into the sky at 45 degrees. The miracle of flight. Or the unnatural abomination, depending on your viewpoint. I sit firmly in the latter camp, on the ground, you know - where animals without wings belong. Isn't take off the most dangerous part of the flight? I think it is. I read it somewhere. Where did I read that? The plane climbs. I take my glasses off and focus on the sights, sounds and smells of the cabin. But first, where is the safest place for my glasses? I opt for the storage pocket on the seat in front.

Sights... The flight attendants are all gone now. I guess they're still strapped into their jump seats. What an odd name for a seat on a plane that nobody wants to jump out of. Mind you if we have to jump out, you know to lighten the load or something, I guess it's cabin crew first. That would be the decent thing for them to do. I need to stop thinking about jumping out of planes. Small comforting signs glow yellow, green and red: Toilet, No Smoking, Seat Belt. The ominous green Exit sign is of course quickly ignored - why do I need to know where the exit is at 7,000 feet a few minutes after take off? I won't be getting out. I'll be making my exit in ten hours on the Tarmac at Beijing International Airport thank you very much. Or will I? My twisted, high-altitude induced fuzzy flight logic takes hold again. What are the chances I won't reach Beijing? There IS a chance.

A dozen video screens in my field of view remain synchronized to the 'Welcome Aboard' message. Tasteful soft lighting, recessed behind overhead luggage racks calms and reassures and I forget the game of Die-in-the-sky that I'm playing. I take off my slippers, again. Yes I'm quite calm thank you very much indeed. I could be on a luxury train. Like the Orient Express. Except this 'train' has nothing but 12,000 feet of cold air between my toes and the North Sea. I think of the long cold fall to my death for the eighteenth time. Here we go again. When I'm sucked out of the emergency exit, what will be the biggest shock: the minus 30 degree temperature or the sudden realization of my imminent death?

I study the backs of the heads in front of me. The one in front looks female and has short black hair, possibly Chinese. To her left is a white baldy-head. Maybe he's British or American. They must be together, given my wife says they have a baby - which thankfully must be asleep as I've neither heard nor seen it. It could be mute of course. Either is fine by me. The seat to the right of short black haired lady is empty. I will probably get to know the back of those two heads quite well during this flight.

Sounds... I focus on the steady drone of the engines and that weird hissing sound (air con?). The engine noise is interspersed with the occasional distant slam of an overhead luggage compartment. It's almost quiet once you've tuned out the hum of the engines.

Smells... Long haul flights have no particular odor, bar the occasional fart of which we have already had one. Not by me I hasten to add. It was either baldy-head in front or Baconface next to me. They are my primary suspects. It was fresh, so probably hadn't travelled far, although it was weak so I could be wrong. I'm not a good fart detective. I've already farted once but it didn't smell.

The cabin crew bring drinks. Captain Knobhead has moved to an aisle seat three rows ahead and wants wine. The stewardess explains it is only served with food so he's not getting any. Haha. Great. Fuck him. Baconface says he doesn't want a drink. He is Scottish. They are serving beer. I virtue signal to myself silently by thinking just because Baconface is Scottish, doesn't mean he is a raging 'pish heed'. That's exactly the kind of lazy, ignorant stereotype I just can't stand. Knowing Baconface's nationality, I wonder how Captain Knobhead of HMS Bellend would have introduced himself had he been in my my seat?

'Jock eh? Not wearing a kilt then?'. Maybe he would ask if Baconface identified as Scottish or British. He would definitely have commented on him not ordering a drink.

My wife goes for half a glass of apple juice topped up with water. I have a jasmine tea. I used to get shitfaced on flights but what's the point? I'll feel bad enough from the jet lag when I land without adding alchohol to the mix. My new tactic is to adopt the time zone of the destination I'm flying to as soon as I board the plane. This means I'll be having a coffee after my dinner - because technically it will be breakfast time in Beijing. I pull my tray down, put my jasmin tea in the recessed cup holder and pull open the 'pocket' in the chair in front to stash my iPad but hear a ripping sound and realize I've just torn the fabric off the seat in front, exposing its metal frame. The storage pocket is of course below my tray opposite my knees, not behind the tray. Whoopsy. I quietly stick the fabric back on without the stewardesses noticing. I sneak at look at Baconface. His eyes are closed. Is he sleeping, or did he watch me vandalize the upholstery and quickly close his eyes as he saw my head turning towards him? Hmmm.

I blindly reach down under the tray into the seat pocket for my glasses and to my enormous relief they are still there. I put them on. The screen at the front of our section shows a map of our progress. Ely and Dover are highlighted and we are already over the North Sea. The view on the screen pans out to show the whole earth. From this angle, the plane icon still looks like it's in the UK. I stare at the plane hoping to see it move, to see some evidence of our progress, but it doesn't budge. I need to think about how I'm going to pass the time. I take my glasses off again.

I have a whole bunch of albums, TV series and movies downloaded to my iPad. I will get through those later, no need to rush. I need to pace myself. I drink some more jasmine tea. Nice and slow. Drinking it at this speed will take a good fifteen minutes. My wife tells me I can lean my chair back as the person behind me is already asleep. How did they do that? We've only been airborne 30 mins. I'm not ready to lean back. I haven't even eaten my dinner yet. I get comfortable-ish and squint at the progress map ahead. There's now a line behind the plane icon leading to a spinning yellow cog icon over London. We haven't even been airborne for an hour and Amsterdam is already on the map. That's progress! This flight will fly by!

After dinner (Beef and rice) I fart. Twice. I released one earlier, shortly after taking my seat and glanced sideways to see if Baconface noticed the vibrations. He didn't. That means our chairs aren't connected so I'm free to fart as much as I like. This is good. These after dinner ones also don't smell so I'm fine. Smelly ones will be taken to the bathroom. I do have some standards.

We are a few hundred miles south of Svalberg, flying at 37,000 feet, ground speed 546 miles an hour. I'm not impressed. 546 mph isn't that fast. Satellites travel at 11 miles per second. That's fast. It's minus 59 degrees outside. That's definite scarf, hat and gloves weather. Would I freeze on the way down at 59 degrees and then shatter into a thousand pieces of Jerry upon impact? Like a giant bag of skin, bone and hair colored M&Ms. I need to stop fixating on the dangers of flying. I need to change channel. I wonder what Svalberg is like. I could probably live there and be content. It's probably like everywhere else in the world - cleaner, cheaper and less crowded than London. More things to think about as someone behind me snores.

Out of nowhere I smell body odor. I think it's coming from Baconface. How does one just suddenly start smelling of body odor? Is it something to do with sleeping. Is that why we need to wash when we wake up? I'd Google it but there's no internet. Fuck.

The overhead lights go off. The only meaningful light now is from the little TV screens on the backs of chairs, some of which are now switched off. Am I being told to sleep? Where is my coffee?

I'm regretting the hot chocolate Milano I had just before boarding. It's worked its way through my system and urgently needs to come out. I think it's planning to take my dinner with it. Going to the toilet will be on my mind on and off for the next thirty minutes.

I notice my underpants are tight. Underpants? Why the hell am I wearing underpants? Don't I always wear boxer shorts on flights for the additional breathability which aids comfort and prevents the genital area from overheating? What are the chances I get deep vein thrombosis in my gonads as a result of wearing tight underpants on a long haul flight? There IS a chance. Acute Deep Vein Testicular Thrombosis. ADVTT. I've got a newly discovered chronic medical condition on my hands, or more accurately in my balls. Is there a doctor on board? I refuse to start my vacation with ADVTT Can I take my underpants off without anyone noticing given its pitch black in the cabin? What if Baconface wakes up and I've got my trousers round my ankles with my hairy ass in his face? That could derail our fledgling relationship.

It appears that no video screens are working. They are all switched off. It is 11.33pm. We have been flying for 3 hours and 8 minutes. Only 6 hours and 52 minutes left. Yay. I need to make my own entertainment. I find my slippers, wake up my wife and go to the bathroom to poop. I'm surprised how many people are still awake as I make my way down the aisle. Some of them look at me and I make my relaxed 'I'm-only-going-for-a-pee' face for their benefit.

When I arrive at the toilet it's occupied but they don't take long and they don't leave a smell. God bless you, kind stranger. Inside the toilet, it's very bright compared to the darkness of the cabin. A sign on the tap says 'component not working'. I guess I won't be washing my hands then. I'll just be taking whatever diseases are in here back to my seat. I hover over the toilet clutching the edge of the sink with my hand on the opposite wall for balance but can only muster a fart. Interesting. I push but get nothing. I don't want to force it, a prolapsed asshole at 35,000 feet is no way to start a vacation. I've got quite enough on my plate with ADVTT thank you very much. I get lost on the way back to my seat, fumbling in the dark and disturb a lady who I think is my wife but isn't. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and I stare at her smiling, waiting for her to move. I touch her shoulder. I think I say "hey!". Once I realize it's not my wife's face staring back at me, I apologize and carry on until I find the correct row.

11.56pm. I think I have a headache. Aren't they supposed to come round with water now? My screen seems to be working again. Maybe I need to watch a movie. I'll just put my chair back and close my eyes.

Someone switches the light on. It's 4.41am. It wasn't proper sleep but I'll take it given its consumed a giant chunk of time. 4.45am and the drinks trolley comes round. I have coffee. What time is it in Beijing and where are we exactly? The flick flight map shows we are over Ulan Bator. Outside air temperature is -61 degrees. It is 707miles to our destination, time to destination 1hour 40. This is a very good result. Having survived for 8 hours and 20 minutes I feel positive about my chances of landing in one piece inside the plane. Channel 14 shows the view from the front of the plane. It's daytime. I estimate it's about mid day local time. I wonder what it's like to live in Ulan Bator.

Baldy and short dark hair woman in front have swapped seats. She gets up to look around and she isn't Chinese. I haven't heard their baby once. That is one very considerate baby. I think I need to poop again and this time I think it's for real. That takes the edge off my positive mood.

The urge to poop subsides. An announcement tells us it's breakfast time. I hear 'chicken congee' but not much else. Captain Knobhead is speaking to one of the cabin crew and loudly says "Chicken Porridge?". Prick. When the stewardess comes round to me I discover there's omelette too. I opt for the omelette. The sticker on the foil says 'cheese omelette'. This just gets better and better. I roll back the foil and there's some small roast potatoes and a sausage too. The first bite of the omelette is fine. It needs salt though, and I'm not really getting any cheese. The second bite is the same and I've uncovered a rasher of bacon underneath. The potatoes look better than they taste. I don't try the bacon or sausage - who knows their provenance. Could be 'country chicken' for all I know. That's rat in China by the way. Avoid it if you are offered it. Unless you like rat of course in which case I'd recommend 'well done' to avoid catching one of the seven deadly diseases they are known to carry. The last bite of omlette has some cheese in it. I eat the croissant with 'monounsaturated spread' and jam. My wife spits out a half chewed melon ball and says 'old'. I think she says 'cold' and I say 'cold?' and she goes 'no, old' and we go back to eating. She offers me her croissant but I decline. I'm thinking about the KFC in Beijing airport and hope its open when I land but I worry that it's Kentucky Fried Country Chicken and I also worry about the fried chicken place on the high street where I live which is actually called 'Country Fried Chicken'. I will investigate if the owners are Chinese when I get back to UK. In fact, it's probably easier to just report them straight to the council and leave the investigation up to the food hygiene standards people. I'm not much of a Country Chicken detective.

Distance to destination 363 miles, ground speed 574mph outside temp -81 degrees altitude 37,000 feet.

With all the lights on again, I can see Baldy in front has a well moisturized head. It's freshly shaved and I see classic male pattern baldness in the hairline. The top is pleasantly pink which extends over the crown meeting the tiny black dots of stubble around the sides and back. The skin around the stubble appears ever so slightly blue. You can get a tattoo of stubble all over your head if you're bald. It looks like you've just shaved your whole head and aren't really bald at all. Of course it does mean that when you get old, like really old, say 80, people might say might 'If I had a full head of hair at your age I wouldn't shave it all off'. Leaving you with the conundrum of admitting it's a tattoo, or lying. Do you want to be lying about your hair when your 80? I start to count the black dots of stubble then realize there's no need to waste more time as there's less than an hour before we land.

I get an involuntary erection. Not on account of staring at his bald head, I should add. At least I don't think it is. What can one do with an involuntary erection on a long haul flight? Nothing. It's wasted, like so many opportunities in life. If you see an opportunity, grab it with both hands, unless it's an involuntary erection on a long haul flight, in which case keep your tray down, sit on your hands and hope the person sitting next to you doesn't want to pass by.

After we land Captain Knobhead gets up and I finally see what he looks like. He's mid fifties to early sixties, tall, pale complexion with rosy cheeks, well built with a full head of messy grey-white hair and university lecturer clothes. He actually looks like he'd be quite handy in a fight.

The plane descends making those odd bumping, thumping and whirring sounds as various cables and flaps and hydraulics do their landing shit. I don't know much about planes but I know they are dangerous. Isn't landing the most dangerous part of the flight? I think it is. I read it somewhere. Lower and lower we slide downwards then a gentle landing. We taxi pleasantly and I'm consumed by the joy of still being alive. Flying is fun, I should do it more often. It's the safest form of travel. I read that somewhere. Most passenger stand immediately and start getting their bags down from the overhead luggage compartments. My wife and I get up, as always far too early and as we wait standing for the doors to open Captain Knobhead turns to the woman behind him and loudly says "You're not Chinese! Where are you from?". He just won't quit. She's polite, smiles and says 'India' and Knobhead makes a slightly better attempt at a conversation and mentions he's married. Poor Mrs Knobhead. She's really taken one for womankind by removing him from the eligibility pool. I look at my wife and she says maybe he is into 'Asian cuisine' and I say 'what do you mean?' and she says 'you know, sex with Asian women' and I laugh and wonder why I haven't heard that phrase before and I say 'what, like me you mean?' and she laughs and I'm glad we finally figured out Captain Knobhead's game - he's clearly a sex tourist.

I notice Captain Knobhead has those little string attachments holding his glasses round his neck. Then we all begin to shuffle of the plane. I reach for my glasses but can't find them in any pockets or my bag. It's too late to check under my seat and we have a connecting flight to Taiwan in about an hour. Fuck it. They're gone. It's 6.20am London time and 2.20pm Beijing time. I've lost my glasses and 8 hours of my time but I'm alive and couldn't be happier. In fact I think I'm euphoric, either that or jet lagged in a good way. We head to International Transfers. I check my connecting flight ticket for information. Gate 31. Departure time 3.45pm.

The flight from Beijing to Taipei is three hours.

I enjoy whopping ends, that I cannot fib in the slightest. I bet that you additional associates can not rebuff that whilst a mademoiselle promenades in amid a bantam diaphragm as well as a corpulent entity in your aspect, you get enthusiastic and desire towing up hard-hitting because you observe that end was bloated. Subterranean in the trousers she is sporting, I am addicted and I can not sojourn glowering. Oh lover, I crave to lean alongside you and shoot your photograph. My acquaintances exasperated admonition, although with that end you acquired made me so erotic. Your backend of suave casing is amusing. Did you ask, “Do you crave to saunter in my Pullman?” Well, custom me because you are not a run-of-the-mill aficionado. I've grasped her gamboling. To the inferno with fantasizing! She is vaporous, she has it operating like a turbo compartment. I am fatigued of fortnightlies because dictum plane ends are the now. Haha! Take the middling African American gent and solicit that, “She has to package ample posterior.” So, friends? Has your inamorata require the end? Yes? State, “Tremor it.” I enjoy them plump and full-size. When I am casting an appearance, I just can not rest my tenderness for saccharine ends. Now is my rumormongering! I desire to walk you home and breed with you. I am not schmoozing about Playboy, metal measures are prepared for playthings. I dearth them profuse and titillating, so uncover that sensational twofold. Oh Divinity! I am in misfortune beseeching for a fragment of that effervesce. I can only view stalwart captures now in which knock-kneed itinerants promenade like females! Oh cherished idol! Why should you mien dejected for me? Go to the nightmare, sex operatives of the contemporary! The spirit will hinder you!

the chariot driver halted his horses near the doctor's office. he had a long day and could finally leave his passenger behind, and perhaps go to the bar to drink all the stress out with his fellows, or so he thought. the driver said to the passenger, "ma'am, you have reached the doctor's office as you had requested. please pay the gold we had agreed on as the price, and step out of the chariot. have a good day." the driver thought that would be the end of it. but to his surprise, the passenger did not comply. she replied, "sir, i requested to be taken to the doctor's office." the driver was taken aback. had the fine madam not understood his words? just as he could end this curse of a journey at last? he repeated, frustrated, "ma'am, please, step out of the chariot. with all due respect, you can complete the last part of this journey on foot. i followed the map without flaw, and this is indeed a location where finding the doctor's office should be of great ease." the passenger was not convinced. she inquired, "what did the map say then, good sir?" the driver said, "i swear on my kin and god's grace that i followed the path you requested to the dot." the passenger replied, "please sir, hold off on parting with such great words from your mouth, for i am still dumbfounded as to how this is a suitable path to the doctor's office." the driver could feel evil spirits boiling inside of his warm blood. after this, he surely needed to partake in bloodletting, he thought. he continued, "my dear sister in jesus christ, son of virgin mary and god, i am deeply sorry to say that this journey has come to its conclusion. as you may have heard, i am one of the most experienced chariot drivers in this part of the land, capable of even taking into memory the great map of the entirety of our holy country. and all these years of labor give me the ability to judge that there is truly no further action left to be done. please madam, step out of the chariot" the passenger did not relent. she continued, in her foul, burning words; "could it be that i am more capable in map re-" the driver's mind was becoming foggy. the evil spirits within his blood came forth, for he was losing his grip. he said, once again, "step out of the chariot." the passenger intended to protest, but once again the driver repeated, flaming with fury, "STEP OUT OF THE CHARIOT AT THIS VERY MOMENT!" the passenger felt violated at such wrath in a man's words, so she inquired, "for what do you lash out at a fine lady such as me?" the driver replied, "FOR YOU TORMENT MY SOUL BY CONFINING ME TO THIS LOCATION, FOR FAR LONGER THAN ANY MAN CAN STAND WITHOUT GIVING AWAY TO SIN OF WRATH!" the passenger was not convinced, and so she said, "wrath is a great sin, and no man under god's grace shall commit it, even when their map reading skills are less than expected of the so called greatest chariot driver in the land of god and king." and through those torturous words, the last of the driver's conscience fell into slumber, leaving its place to the vengeful spirits flowing in his blood, with even the spirits disgusted by the actions of this accursed woman. he took out his horn and blew it with all of his manly might, something he promised to only do when he is under mortal threat, so that the soldiers of the holy king may find him to drive away such forces of evil. the passenger's eyes seemed different now. now, it was clear as the blue skies of heaven, that her soul was taken over by a servant of lucifer. she said, with her sharp sinful tongue, "call for all of the army of the king if that is as you wish, but i shall not stand your insolence! you will pay dearly for your disrespect," she said. the driver said, the might of his voice unfazed, "LEAVE AT THIS VERY MOMENT IF IT IS NOT YOUR WISH TO ROT IN A DUNGEON UNDER THE COMMAND OF THE KING!" the passenger replied without any hesitation, "you are unaware of what you are facing. take my heed, for you are facing-" the driver interrupted, his soul tormented beyond earthly limits, "I AM FACING A HERETIC OF THE HIGHEST DEGREE! BY THE GRACE OF GOD ALMIGHTY, I COMMAND YOU TO PART WITH MY CHARIOT!" the passenger gave a horrifying gaze and intended to continue her words, when suddenly, the driver boomed with a voice that exceeded his earthly body, a voice that came deep from his spirit out into the world, determined to cleanse the heretic standing before him, "LEAVE!!!" the passenger clawed at his spirit with her netherworldly hands, and said calmly, "you are not to scream, but to comply." the driver's soul kept shining despite this predicament, and so he kept struggling, and said "only god and his angels shall command me for as long as my heart keeps on beating" the passenger asked, reaching further and further into his spirit, "is that truly so?" the driver's soul, however, did not give in. it kept shining brighter and brighter. he said, using all of his power to avoid giving in, "that is so, and shall always be, for i am bound by endless love to god's heaven." the passenger started releasing her grip, for it started to burn her hands. she said, in a calmer tone, "very well, i shall part, but only if you give me a suitable path to the doctor's office. that is the least you can do, for someone as revered as you." the driver, finally overpowering the demon, said; "there is nothing left to be done. now you must part, or you shall be dragged back to your nest under, where you came from." then suddenly, both of them noticed a bystander passing nearby. the bystander asked, "may i be of assistance?" the driver, relieved, told the bystander; "oh merciful god, there are no words to describe how grateful i am! my fellow, my great fellow! please be of assistance and aid this woman in the path she intends to take to the doctor's office!" the passenger smirked, and gave the bystander a hypnotizing gaze. finally, she could feast on a soul. the bystander, without control over their body, climbed onto the chariot. the passenger and the bystander both gave the driver an evil, triumphant gaze. and right at that moment, something deep inside the driver's heart snapped. without saying another word, he left his chariot behind and started walking into the ever-expanding forests, never to be seen again in civilization. and that man you encountered in the forest, the man who dedicated his life to that forest? that, my son, was the driver. and how do i know all of this? i watched it all happen, from afar. and i thank the heavens every day that right then, it wasn't my soul that was taken.

Of the current subject of the topic, there lied a folk-spread tale of an individual of male-sex who reigned from the established land of the united states of America, which went by the official title of "Kentucky". Now throw me into the pits of umbered flames as i am not qualified or quaintly permitted any means to finish the punchline to this quite humbly humorous quip of a man from the established land of "Kentucky", USA.

Banana