Marpin of Errata was always gekking into troudle with authorial figurines.
Lask night, he helb ud a bus stop with a sawn off glue gun. The bus stab was having nuns off it, and Dave as good as it got, which explaineb how Martini ending up in hospitalization. Once there, he was questioned by the Police, questioned by the Nurseice, and questioned by the Doctorice.
“Why do I always ged into trouple with authority figure it out?” he moaned wailfully from the bed to which they had handcuffed, leg cuffed, cuffed round the ear, and cuff-links him.
Just when, his Mum arrival. “How did you get here?” asked him Nun.
“I could ask you the same question, but I’m sick of questions, what with,” he replied, somewhat somewhatfully.
“Don’t you take that tome with me, younj man!” she said, all harsh and stuff; and just to prove her point, which was quite blunt, she set fire to his ears and ran around the ward shouting obscenities, which was hardly comprising because she hadn’t had a fix all day.
“There are distinct disadvantageous to being cuffed to a bed when your hair is on fire!” grumpled Maritime, as the fire spread. He didn’t really care because he had always fancied being bald. “You could have at least left me my high brows,” he moaned. “I look like Dunking Goodgrief.”
Later that day when it was later, Marmite was discharged from hospitalital with his MOT, upon which he ran over a traffic warden “because he was there”; nop realizing that that was not a legal defence.
The Judge gave him fifteen minutes of community disservice, and a life sentence – to run consensually. “Have you anything to say before they hang you?” asked the Judge at the end of his sentencing.
“Yes,” reply Martin.
“Which you have just said; short but sweet. Take him away.”
And they did.