16th April, 1990
In the summer of 1990, the great hobo Fred the Great (of Boronia) sneezed an electric curtain onto the Mona Lisa. Such an event caused rifts in hyperspace by polarising the curtains, but then he didn't want to inherit them anyway. The blackout only lasted three years, and several children were born as a result. The polarisation meant they could see the paths of bees, and they consequently went thoroughly.
Through the trough of thorough though, Theodore (though thin) thrashed the thoughtless seamstress with the silent silverfish. ``Nasty'', thought Ned as he neatly piano-removed and then stopped for tea. Ned's accomplice and brother, Horatio Amadeus Kelly, preferred to brew linoleum powder in the billy, but then he was rather strange. Meanwhile, the curtains had faded in the sunlight. The curtains, courtesy of Cowra Cordials, continued copiously coping corporated bodies. This said, the end became large and fuzzy. Beware the holy calculator, but the electric piano was flat; the polarising foot crashed through the elderberry jam and thus found itself in a very sticky situation. Meanwhile, the curtains had faded in the sunlight. After fading in they faded back out again.
O those eclectic curtains! How great thou art! Hallowed be thy diffraction grating! ``No!'' gasped the elephant as the mice chewed through the terminal and finite hyperspace bypass, but at least the car engine would start. Patrick sat on the chips, crushing them to crumbs as Prunella picked her teeth and glared out the polarised glass at the glare. The polariser was glowing brightly as Anja slipped seductively into her battle dress. Robert stared as Patrick's liver floated past Robert's own severed hip; it's a pity they were born as siamese twins. Fortunately, a well-known Swedish nurse was dyeing his fur green in an attempt to match the curtains, which promptly immolated themselves in sheer disgust. Whilst they smouldered, their ashes rose again, becoming sharp thorny plants in the garden of elderberries outside Helga's revolving window. In the nuclear blast, much ado was about nothing.
The revolution came and went. So much for the fun. Back at base, Virgil oiled his strings and slipped. ``Free at last!....''...splat. ``Hmm'' said Alex. He was prevented from saying any more by the hunting knife protruding from his kneebrace. ``Hmm'' he thought, sadly, and gurgled quietly as the garotte cut through his throat. The sad fact was that he never used Listerine, and hence had not cancer from the phenol he hadn't gargled three times a day since early curtainhood. That's polarisation for you. Eclecticism was very popular in hyperspace due to its absence. All the practitioners of this art had been written as the end of the story came up, which it did in hyperspace.