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Recently I was walking down a street, no street in particular, just a street, and I ran into a friend I knew from a long time ago, before my conscious years. Now, he told me a story. A very peculiar story indeed for he spoke of many strange things, of that I’m sure. Now, I shall not delay any longer nor offer any more thought to the matter but I shall merely recount these events to you.


I had not seen my friend for many years and so I had many questions though he did not have quite so many answers. However, he did tell me of his travels to faraway places and mysterious lands, though, I must say, his most entrancing story was that of a simple rogue dinosaur of most peculiar sorts.



He had met this oddity on his journeys through Egypt. This peculiar traveler was in search of a bar run by a very heavy set variety of men, that of questionable trustworthiness, no doubt. Luckily enough, this fault in character is somewhat ignored due to the quality of the beer.


You may wish to go in search of this bar, but before you do, you must locate it. And by far the most straightforward way to do this, excluding the wonders of summoning the GPS demon, is by spinning around five times in a counter-clockwise direction while repeating the phrase: “I do believe in fairies”. In the event that you do lose your way, no amount of transversing Pen Island may help you, for your only means of entrance is that of statement of the name "An easy task, you may think," he said to me. "But before you call me a fool, know that the name of this place can only be pronounced by a certain species of Austrian platypus (specifically "Austrian" that is). While this may seem no large obstacle also know that this species has long been extinct, some say even before the ten commandments of the internet were carved in the dark language of the binary code, for they were farmed out of extinction by the long dead race of flarg-horns.”


“Know now that if a human was to even attempt to pronounce the name, then the resulting explosion of techni-coloured Charlie Chaplin films might destroy a house, or possibly just the pavement. Of course, the bar’s name could be roughly translated to the German phrase 'Das Spiel' but that would be no fun.”


After wishing him good health, I left him to his own devices, thinking that he had lost his mind on his trips to long-lost lands. This perhaps unfounded speculation later turned out to be true for I found it lying on the sidewalk near to a stash of techni-coloured Charlie Chaplin films. This inspired me to write the theory of relativity and now the whole world knows my name, or that of the collective. To good health and good riddance, I bid you good day.