Hi, it's Matt Pacey again. Uncle Matt is still walking with a limp, so he can't write his blog just yet. So, i'm filling in with another story. It's kinda scary, so you don't want to read it if you're scared of things that are scary. I wrote it 'cause someone wanted a story with the Beatles in it. So here it is,

Little Jimmy's Nightmare
By Matt Pacey


Little Jimmy sat alone in his house. The television was on. A movie.

He looked at his watch. It was pretty dark though. He couldn't really see it. Not enough to make out the numbers.

He tried to get some light from the TV onto the watch face. It was a pretty dark, gloomy movie though; the kind that are so dark, if you try to watch them at noon, the light from the window ruins the whole picture. It was the perfect movie to watch in the dark, but not very good for lighting up watches.

Then he remembered... He pushed a button on the upper right of his timepiece, and the whole face emitted a faint green glow. 3:30 AM. It was a little past his bedtime.

But his parents weren't home.

He didn't really have to worry.

But he did anyways.

They were supposed to stay overnight at the Petruccis' place.

But what if they came home early?

Nevermind.
Time to focus on the movie.

It was the kind he wasn't really allowed to watch. But that's what he did when his parents were away. No one to tell him they were bad.

He was old enough to watch what he wanted. 9 years old. 9 candles on his birthday cake. Quite the accomplishment. His parents were only 3 times his age, he knew. And they were REALLY old... So he must be at least fairly old.

The woman in the tank top was running down the hall from the black, slobbering beast with the red, glowing eyes. He couldn't make out what it was; just enough could be seen on screen to give the vague impression that there was a black, slobbering beast with the red, glowing eyes, sprinting forwards in the darkness.

Green hands grabbed at her through holes in the walls. They scratched her flesh with long grey nails. They looked vaguely human... as though they had once belonged to men, but were mutated out of shape my some mad scientist's vile potions. They scratched, and scratched, and tore, and grabbed.

Jimmy's parents warned him about these movies.

"You better not watch those scary movies, or they just might come true!"

Yeah right. They were probably just making things up. When he made those faces, it NEVER got stuck that way! He practiced for hours in front of the mirror, just to see if it was true. It would be soo cool! But it never happened. He believed them, but it never happened.

Why should he believe them about the movies?

One of the hands grabbed at what was left of her shirt. It wasn't very much. And the hand didn't find it so hard to remove!

Jimmy wasn't one to think that girls were icky. But women? Ewww... They were plenty weird. He covered his eyes with his hands!

...peeking out between his fingers.

The beast stood before her, grinning with a look of dark victory upon its' face. It slowly moved its head from one side to the other, dripping from the mouth, eyes narrowed into slits.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The woman screamed with the most high-pitched, ear-spitting banshee-wail Jimmy's ears had ever heard, as the creature lunged forwards into a commercial break.

Sigh.

That was pretty close! Jimmy didn't think he'd have a chance to go get a soda soon, but here was his opportunity!

It was pretty dark in here. The only light was provided by a laundry detergent commercial. But Jimmy could make out the outline of the kitchen door in the distance.

He knew they were just trying to scare him, but the words of his parents echoed in his head.

"You better not watch those scary movies, or they just might come true!"

Poppycock!

"You better not watch those scary movies, or they just might come true!"

That's poop! Poop in word form!

So Jimmy peered over the edge of the couch to the floor below his feet. He couldn't see the floor. But he knew it was there. It always had been, and it always would be. Nothing to be scared of.

Slowly...

He lowered...

His foot.

It was close to where he knew the floor should be. But should he risk putting it down? All he could see was a blackened void!

Sillyness!

The floor was there. It must be. What else would be holding up the couch? Surely it wasn't levitating.

He decided he must get up... Or else he'd never get his soda!

He threw his foot to the ground... and hurtled forward , face first, towards the blackness!

He tried to scream, as he flew downwards into the abyss, but no sound exited his terror-contorted mouth.

*Thud*

He hit the floor.

He must have misjudged the distance to the ground. Their new couch was a little taller than the old one they had just gotten rid of.

He brushed himself off as he got to his feet. No harm done. Just a little rug burn maybe. But at least he wasn't plummeting into a bottomless chasm of doom.

A commercial for moisturizing hand soap came on.

Maybe those green hands would be happier if they had some of that soap, Jimmy thought, as he headed towards the outline of the kitchen door. He went slowly, always on the lookout for any mystery abyss that might be lying in his path.

Maybe they could use some nail clippers as well, he thought.

Slowly but surely he crept on. But then he realized there was nothing to be afraid of.

No bottomless holes....

No black beasts....

No grabbing green.... Say! What is THAT?

Pssht. Just a garish green winter glove his grandma had made him, carelessly tossed about, into the doorway to the kitchen.

Ah, the kitchen at last. The moonlight shone in from the kitchen window. He could see his swing set in silhouette, casting its shadow across the lawn. And he could see the refrigerator beside him in the room; his destination at last achieved!

"AAAH! My eyes!"

After being in the darkened TV room, the light from the refrigerator blinded him as he yanked it open. He covered his face with his hands, and peering out, with a squinting eye, through a tiny slit between two fingers, he spied the soda! He turned his face away from the fridge, and removing one hand from his face, he reached for the can of cool, refreshing, vastly oversweetened cola. His fingers clasped around the can, and grasping it securely, he lifted it forth from its frigid tomb.

He closed the fridge, and walked casually towards the kitchen doorway. He popped open the soda can, and lifted it to his parched lips.

He knew it was silliness, but he still couldn't get those words of 'wisdom' out of his mind: "You better not watch those scary movies, or they just might come true!"

Touching the can to his lips, and tilting it upwards, he allowed the cool dark liquid to enter his mouth.

"AAAAAAAAAAAUUUURHHHHHHGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Jimmy cried out in pain and winced as the cold soda covered his teeth, the sugar adding its own sting as it began the cavity-tunneling process.

He looked up, after the soda had finished its work, and looked back out upon the living room, and towards the couch, to which he must make his way once more. He could tell the couch was there since it cut off the deodorant ad on the TV about halfway down the screen.

He turned back towards the kitchen window, and the sight of his swing set in the yard. It certainly was late to go swinging. Or that's what his parents would say, were they there. But they weren't. It was Jimmy's night. He could do whatever he wanted; no one would send him to his room!

Behind him, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move! He couldn't make out what it was. But he had the vague impression that there was a black, slobbering beast with the red, glowing eyes!

Looking back towards the moon, he reached into the back pocket of his Space Squad 5000 licensed PJs, and felt his hand close around something cold, hard and rectangular. He aimed it behind him and jammed his thumb down hard on a button near the terminus of the device!

*Click*

The TV turned off behind him.

He placed the TV remote on top of the dishwasher, before heading towards the screen door that lead to the backyard.

Behind him, he heard a low growl. Startled, he turned back towards the living room door. The TV must not have went off! He should have turned to make sure the screen went black. He grabbed the remote again, and headed back towards the living room doorway.

That little shock had put him on edge, though. He had to repeat to himself:

No bottomless holes....

No black beasts....

No grabbing green hands...

No bottomless holes....

No black beasts....

No grabbing green hands...

And he finally got his adrenaline down to manageable levels, and he turned the corner into the living room. Staring him in the face was a black, slobbering beast with the red, glowing eyes. So the TV hadn't gone off.

He raised the remote, pointed it straight towards the glowing red eyes that hovered in the darkness above the wide, slobbering, steel-tooth-lined chasm of a mouth.

*click*

All of a sudden, he heard the TV's speakers blare to life! What was happening? All he could hear was one of those songs from his parents' old Beatles records, and behind a large beastly silhouette of a head, he could see various parts of John, Paul, George, and Ringo, and behind them, the set of the Ed Sullivan Show.

*click*

Silence.

*click*

"All my lovin'!"

*click*

Silence.

*click*

"Darling, I'll be true!"

*click*

Silence again!

Throughout all the clicking, the Beatles appearing and disappearing, between all the transitions between sound and silence, Ed Sullivan and no Ed Sullivan, the ghastly visage of the beast remained fixed in the air, red beady eyes staring straight at their intended prey.

Not knowing what to do, Jimmy hit the button, once again.

"All my loving, darling RRRRAAAAAAAAAWWWWRRRRRRRRR!"
The beast opened its' mouth wide, getting out the most horrible sound ever to reach Jimmy's ears. More earsplittingly loud than the woman's banshee-wail, and infinitely more terrifying. It let forth a sound not unlike the sound of a cat, being devoured alive by a garbage disposal; a sound both like grinding machinery and sheer organic terror, mixed with a low bass gurgle that sounded decidedly sewage-related.
But Jimmy had not long to ponder this noise, as his legs were promptly yanked out from under him. Something was dragging him backwards, face down, across the carpet. Rug burn stung his face. He tried to grip the carpet with his hands, but it was useless. He looked down towards his feet as he struggled against... whatever it was!
He looked down towards his ankles, and stared, unbelieving, at the five long green fingers that were wrapped around it!
He tried to kick it loose, but to no avail. It just kept dragging him backwards, to where long arms emerged from an empty black hole in the floor. A mad cackling rose from the chasm, stirring up images of a wild-haired hunchback in a lab coat, mixing two steaming beakers into a cauldron, while electrical arcs from a hundred different machines dance about him.
Johnny wouldn't let himself be the victim of some eccentric madman! He struggled against the freakish green hands, with the garish grey nails, constantly kicking at the fingers. But the arms just kept descending into the hole, still dragging him along.
Into the hole went his feet.
Into the hole went his ankles, legs, and hips.
Into the hole he went everything besides his fingers, which just barely gripped the chasm's edge, the insane cackling getting louder with every tug by those cold, bony things that tore at him from below.
He tried to pull himself out. But he couldn't bring himself closer to the rim by even an inch. He looked up, and he could barely see the ceiling above him. For most of it was blocked out by a snarling black face, with a large, drooling mouth, and piercing red eyes.
Jimmy let go.
The sight of the beast and the ceiling above it receded into the darkness, until he could see nothing at all. The cackling grew louder and louder, and then faded away to nothing again.
Everything was black. No sights. No sounds. No sensation at all.
Nothing, until he once again heard the sound of RRRRAAAAAAAAAWWWWRRRRRRRRR!
The last thing he saw, he was headed straight towards those glowing red eyes, those silvery rows of teeth, feeling the drool of the hungry beast being spewed across his face by a blood-red tongue.
-----
Jimmy's parents arrived home early next morning. The beautiful colours of the sunrise were fresh in the sky. They parked the car, walked in the door, and took a look around for Jimmy. The TV was still on. Cheerful theme music played as bright pastel-coloured characters frolicked in the fields of flowers. The parents sighed to themselves, looking at the disarray Jimmy had left the living room in. His body parts were strewn here and there; an eyeball was floating in the fish tank, with an optic nerve like a little tail fin; the uneaten portions of his heart were hanging half out of the microwave; a lone foot sat atop a pile of intestines on the middle cushion of the couch. Blood, guts, and intestinal matter (not to forget the occasional bone fragments) plastered the walls and ceiling of the room.
One of the TV characters handed another a bouquet of freshly-picked daisies, and they both giggled with glee.
"Sigh. We told him not to watch those late night movies!" Said Mom, in a disapproving voice.
"I still say we should just kick that mad scientist out of the basement. He's never caused anything but trouble," Said Dad, putting in his own two cents.
"Oh dear, don't be hasty!' Mom replied. "He always clones us a new son every time this happens".
"You're right, Honey," Dad realized. "Let's just hope the next one listens to us when we talk to him!"
"Oh, that's what every parent wants, Dear," Said Mom. "But you know, Boys will be boys!"
"Indubitably."

THE END!

It's that time again... no, not tool time!

Hi, this is Matt Pacey, filling in for Uncle Travelling Matt. I'm sorry to have to say this, but Uncle Matt fell out of an airplane, died, and his head exploded. So he'll be in the hospital for a few days while he recovers. I thought I'd just post a story you might enjoy while you wait. Here it is, a story written in the style of an urban legend that I call...

'URBAN LEGEND'
or, 'I heard it from a friend of a friend of mine'.

Ok, so this woman's driving home from work. It's kind of snowy out. It's getting late, and she has to get home soon so she can drive her daughter to ringette. Driving on the highway, the roads were ok, but as soon as she hit the streets of her town, it was horrible. None of the roads had been plowed and she was driving through a couple of inches of slush. She was just driving along, minding her own business, when, WHAM! Something hit her windshield!
Those damned kids hanging around the corner store were throwing snowballs again.
She looked back at them in anger, and thought to herself, "Stupid kids! They could cause an accident!"
And they almost did! When she turns her eyes back to the road, she sees a baby in a purple snowsuit running across the street! She hit on the brakes, but with all the slush, she started to slide out of control! Luckily, she managed to stop, just in time. Another child, presumaby the girl's older sister, runs up to the baby and grabs her by the hand, walking her off the street. The older girl waves to the driver, but the woman just glares at the girl, then drives on. So, finally, she gets home, and honks her horn as she drives into the driveway. Her daughter opens the door, and steps out, lugging a gym bag behind her. The woman opens her door and yells "Hurry up! We're gonna be late!" The daughter throws her bag in the trunk, and hops in the back seat. It's getting pretty late, and the sun's gone down behind the horizon by this time. They gotta get moving if they're going to make it to the practice in time. So there they are, driving down the road and they're almost at the corner store when all of a sudden, they hear a SPLAT against the front of the car!
"Fuck those damned kids!" screamed the mother, apparently oblivious to the fact that her daughter was in the back. "They could cause an accident!"
While she's looking around to see where the snowball came from, she feels something THUD against the front of the automobile.
"Those bastards!" she thought to herself. "Probably built a snowman in the middle of the road again! They should be in some kind of institution!"
So there they are driving along, when, all of a sudden, the woman sees a streak of blood sliding up the windshield! They must have hit some kind of animal! People shouldn't let their pets just run free in the streets, the woman thinks. They're driving along, and more blood is sliding up the windshield.
Where is all that blood coming from, she wonders? Did whatever it was get stuck to the car? Ugh, she doesn't like the thought of having to remove a dead splattered thing from her car's grill. Just then, they arrive at the arena. She drives into the parking lot, and looks for a space. All the while, people are staring at the front of her car, shocked looks on their faces. It must be pretty messy then, she thinks. She REALLY doesn't want to see the damage now. She doesn't want too much attention drawn to her car, so she drives around and parks behind the arena. So, she opens her door and gets out. Her daughter steps out and runs to the trunk to get her bag.
The woman really doesn't want to look at the front of her car, but she wonders how bad it must look to make everyone stare. So she walks around, and when she sees the hood she turns pale, lets out a gasp, and her face twists into an expression of pure horror. A mass of blood, guts, hair, and mashed organs is imbedded in the twisted grill of her car. And it's wearing a purple snowsuit.

Ta ta for now,
--Matthew A. Pacey

Is this yet another entry, you ask? Why, yes it is!

Greetings, folks. I'm sorry, but I have to leave on a voyage across the seven seas, so I don't have time to write a blog like I usually do. Instead, I present you with a story for your reading pleasure. It's by a good friend of mine, and I hope you enjoy!

The Best Coconut

by Matt Pacey

There once was a boy, and he lived in the woods. the woods were often dark and scary, especially when the sun was hidden by the old brown pines. The old brown pines were not the boy's friends, and in fact, they would consider themselves to be the enemies of this young lad. You see, the pines did not enjoy this boy's company. He often used the trunks of the trees to suspend his hammock, whereupon he would lay there sipping lemon juice out of a half coconut shell. Do not ask me where he got this coconut shell in a temperate zone, but he had it, and it was his favourite coconut of all.

One day, he was lying on his hammock, but he could not find his coconut, into which he had recently squeezed the juice of not one, not two, but three juicy forest-lemons. He asked the squirrel if he'd seen the coconut, but since squirrels can't talk he recieved no reply, although the squirrel did offer him an acorn, which he respectfully declined. He asked a swarm of bees if they had seen his coconut, but they decided to sting him and chase him away, for bees are not very sociable creatures. Finally, he asked a pine.

'Have you seen my coconut?' he asked.

'Why ye... NO! I do not believe that I have seen your coconut,' replied the surly old plant, spitting sap all over the boy as he spoke out of a particularly large knothole.

'Without my coconut, I am sad,' said the boy.

'Now that you mention it,' said the tree, 'I believe some butterflies stole it.'

'Butterflies?'

'Yes, butterflies. A whole swarm. They were drinking the sweet nectar of your forest-lemons, when they became trapped beneath the coconut shell, after it was flipped over by a gang of bees. They are quite the menaces, those bees.'

'But where did my coconut go?' the boy queried.

'The butterflies flew it away of course. I believe it is somewhere in that direction,' replied the tree, aiming a gnarled grey branch in the general direction of that way.

'Tree, I appreciate your help. Unless you aren't helping me, then I hate you,' said the boy, walking all the way over there, through many twists and turns, through nearly impassable terrain composed of brambles, bushes, and thorny plants of all shapes and sizes. Occasionally, a needly pine branch made an unpleasant brush across his face.

He walked and walked but did not find his coconut. He realized that the tree was not being helpful at all. It must have all been a ruse to get the boy away from the tree so the tree could drink the coconut himself! He decided to go back, and have a talk with the tree, but he didn't know where he was! He had become lost in the forest. How would he get back? He sat and wondered for a while, pondering a way of making a compass from thorny plants and pine needles, when he saw a passing herd of butterflies!

'I wonder where they are going? he wondered. Then he remembered how much butterflies love the sweet taste of freshly squeezed forest lemon! They could be on their way to wherever that nasty pine had put his coconut! So, running, he followed the butterflies as they skimmed over the surface of the nearly impassable terrain, over hill and valley, until they were back at the foot of the pine. The pine sat there, sipping on the sweet sweet lemon juice, holding it out of reach of boy and butterfly alike.

'I don't appreciate your vile ruse!' stated the boy. 'I would appreciate the return of my personal property!'

'Silly boy,' he said. 'Not even a large canteloupe could get this lemon juice away from me!'

All of a sudden, from amongst the foliage of a poplar, an acorn whizzed through the air, hitting the pine right above the knothole.

'Silly squirrel!' was the tree's response. 'You think you can foil me? A simple acorn will not stop a mighty pine!'

What the pine did not know was that the impact had dislodged a large bees' nest that was sitting amongst its branches. It fell to the forest floor with a crash, sending bees flying everywhere! The pine dropped the coconut, which the boy promptly recovered, before running to the poplar where his squirrel friend was hiding.

A cry of 'help me! I'm allergic!' could be heard from the direction of the knotty old evergreen.

'It seems as though you found a good use for that acorn,' said the boy, as they sipped from the coconut shell its delicious golden contents, right before the bees came flying after them and they ran for their lives into the woods.

FIN.

The moral of the story: Although they may sometimes be helpful, bees are not your friends!

---Bon Voyage,
Uncle Travelling Matt

UTMWWoQS, Entry the Third

Mushrooms for dinner, mushrooms for lunch once again. I rode the Led Zeppelin until the Hindenburg realization that the time of to blog is upon us. Interzone is nice this time of the decade, while Mr Burroughs says hello and I wave backwards a sly understanding. It's in my knife, I realize as it asks me a question.

Love, love, love. Can't buy me love. I thought love was only true in fairy tales, meant for someone else but not for me. Matt tells me he loves his girlfriend Stephanie, and I'm inclined to believe him. All you need is love. Love. Love is all you need.

Ahem. Excuse me, but it seems as though the fungus samples I brought back were even more infrared than I expected, so pardon my English as the wings fade away once again.

This week, folks, I think I'll share my thoughts on a subject that is particularly relevant to world affairs this week. You see, my friend Matt is building a computer game about a dungeon-quester, and I thought that since many people, including him, do not know the scientifically correct facts about some of the most common dungeon denizens. I assure you, this will help you out significantly if you ever find yourself to be endungeoned.

First note: If a rotund townsman (possibly the mayor of the town) with a moustache ever offers you a moderate sum of money to clear a sewer of rats, make sure you are aware that sewers are often connected to the first level, or first several levels, of a dungeon. This being so, the rats which you have been commissioned to remove from the sewers may not be ordinary rats, but they may in fact be mutated rat-men. Rat men can claw you for 2d5 damage or throw spears with moderate accuracy, also for 2d5 worth of damage.

Note secondly: Blubbering masses of goo may inhabit the previously mentioned sewer / dungeon. Be aware that masses of goo may blob towards you, and crawl on you to attack. Although they usually move slowly and are not much danger in small numbers, blubbery piles of mobile goo may fission into smaller piles of mobile blubbery goo, which, feeding on the slime-coated sewer floor, may grow into full-sized goos, whereupon they will again fission, quickly creating a large overpopulation problem. Certain goos may also secrete acid, which may damage your armour or sword.

For the third noting, you should note the following: Skeletons are scary. They can emerge from coffins, shallow graves, crypts, sarcophagi, or even piles of bones. Blunt weapons work well on skellingtons, since they can crush the bones and make it difficult for the skellingtons to regroup their pieces. Be warned: Skeletons are especially icky if they still have bits of meat hanging off of them. They are often summoned by the magic of a Necrowizard.

Note fourthly: Bats are not monsters, but they can be scary sometimes. Most of them are actually harmless, but some may bite when provoked. Bats can carry rabies, so be careful.

Note the Fifth: You can smell zombies from a long way off. Try not to let them get too close, or you may have to puke. Spraying Lysol or Old Spice body spray on zombies is known to help with the smell, and they will be happier now that they don't have such terrible body odour. If you have no Lysol or Old Spice, throwing a pine-scented air freshener from the local gas bar around their neck will work just as well.

A note about bosses: Try to stay away from Big Bosses. Unless you have the magic sword that is. Big bosses are usually bad-tempered and don't want to talk things out.

That is all for now! I'm going to go see if my friend Matt (not to be confused with me Matt) has implemented these facts correctly.

Fare thee well,
---Uncle Travelling Matt.

UTMWWoQS, Entry the One-More-Than-First

So, my expedition is successful, and my crew has brought me back safely from the jungles of the ancient wilderness, much richer in learnings and with most of my arms still attached. We searched far and wide for evidence of history in the darkest corners of that oft-neglected continent to which we adventured, and found enough to keep cultural anthropologists and / or ethnographers in the region busy for decades.

We lived with a local tribe for about a year, local time, which amazingly translates to approximately seven days of Canadian time. During this time, we lived in thatch-roofed cottages we constructed with the help of the local villagers. We survived this whole time on the only food eaten by the men of the jungle, a type of shelf fungus which grows only on palm trees of a particular hue of chestnut brown, within a twenty mile radius of the campsite. The mushroom has some strange properties. After eating a couple of pounds of the substance, I seemed to grow neon purple wings, which also seemed to be eminating a colour of light that is not normally part of the visual spectrum. I tried talking to my trusty sidekick, William H. Huntsberger VII, Esq., but he turned into a blurred smudge of twinkling stardust, whereupon I started freaking out. A few days later I calmed down enough to have another meal. I seemed to grow wings a little less this time, and things seemed pretty normal from there to the conclusion of our journeys, although the penguins remained very chattery, and would not stop enrundilectiviating.

During my stay with the villiagers, I was allowed to partake in a viewing of the local Elder King's monthly reading of the Ancient Legends, which he finds encoded in the dots of pieces of birchbark retrieved from the forest floor. By rubbing a sacred pinecone against the birchbark, he can recieve the messages sent up to him through the ages by the Elder Jungle Gods. I will Relate to you one such message.

It is said that thousands of years ago, at the dawn of the creation of the earth by the great Centipede Mother, she who combines the elements of infinity into the blanket of the universe within her spidery silk, there lived a bear.

One day the bear asked his mother, "Mother, can I buy some new shoes? My boots are too small!"
"By the Mother and her Pinapple of Destiny, you cannot buy shoes! You can only buy boots!" his mother replied.
"But all the kids at school are wearing shoes!" said the little bear.
"You may wear boots or flippers, but not shoes!" replied the mother.
"I am too old for flippers," replied the bear, "and boots are so last February!"
"I will not allow a child of mine to wear boots," said Mom, "and that's that! If I gave you fifty shillings and a tophat made of spongecake, will you buy some decent boots for yourself?"
"Why certainly!" said the little bear, which was a masterful stroke of decietful cleverness, for in reality he had no intention of buying boots.
He went to the boot store, and asked the clerk if he sold any shoes.
"We sell no shoes!" replied the clerk. "Only boots. And that will be fifty shillings and a tophat made of spongecake.
"Is that all you sell?" asked the bear.
"No, actually. We sell flippers and moccassins."
"I'll take the moccasins then."
"ok. Give me the spongecake tophat," the stoorkeep demanded.

The bear returned home in the moccassins. He came in the door, and his father saw the moccassins. He called his wife into the room.

"MARGARET!"

Margaret, the bear's mother, came into the room and saw the moccassins. She sighed and shook her head, although there was a smile on her face as she did so.

"Oh, little bear. What will we ever do with you? You know how much I like moccassins!"

Yes, that was the story. Although I may have gotten some of the wording wrong, I hope I got the point across. I'll leave you that to ponder over for the rest of the week, for now I'm off to go scientifically study some more of those mushrooms while listening to my scientific collection of Led Zeppelin records.

Fare Thee Well,
--- Uncle Travelling Matt.

UTMWWoQS, Installment the First.

Hello, and welcome to the first installment in my new quasi-informative series of weekly blog entries I'd like to call Uncle Travelling Matt's Wild Word of Questionable Science, or UTMWWoQS, for those of you out there who enjoy assimulating unpronouncable acronyms.

Since this is the inaugral issue of this blog, I thought I'd start off with a subject we could all relate to. Llamas. Everyone loves llamas. Their long bushy tails, soft fuzzy coats, their delicate paws. But I bet as you pass by your local llama ranch you wonder to yourself, "where did all these llamas come from?" which is inevitably followed by the followup, "and why are they hanging out with all those sheep?"

The answers to these questions are both closely linked and extremely shocking to the average person. With that in mind, the following paragraphs should only be read when your parents are out of the room, or you might get in trouble.

If you're still reading this (which I assume you are, if you can make sense of this sentence), I will reveal the truth that has been closely guarded by the close-knit cult of sheep and llama farmers for generations: Llamas are actually the rarely-reached adult stage in the life cycle of everyone's favourite ruminant that goes "baaa".

I know what you're thinking... "lamb, llama... A llama is just a lamb with an extra syllable! Why didn't I notice this before?"
Don't worry, this is an oversight common to over 99.9 percent of this country's population, which is probably due to the vast influence the wool industry has over the international media.

Unknown to most, the life cycle of the llama is such: A sheep is born. In the wilds of Southnorthern China, where the species originates, a llama would spend a year or two in this larval state before entering the chrysalis stage of development, from which would emerge a small llama. However, in the captivity of the sheep and llama ranching industry of Northern America, this process is thwarted at every attempt by the shearing of the animal's wool.

Naturally, during the autumn months, the wool would grow around the animal's body until it was entirely encased within a blanket its own hair. At this point, the sheep would secrete various natural chemicals which cause the hardening of the woolen layer into a cocoon, just in time for the winter hibernation period where the sheep undergoes the major structural and hormonal stages of the metamorphosis into the llamaform state.

Unfortunately, the shearing of sheep for the wool industry has the tragic side effect of keeping millions of these animals in the larval state for the entire duration of their lifespan. An interesting biological fact about sheep is their ability to reproduce large numbers of hatchlings without progressing to the full adult state, which is largely unheard of in mammals with metamorphic life cycles. Since the nature of the llama's lifecycle is largely unknown to the general population, it has only been in recent years that animal rights activists have made the alteration of the llama's progression to adulthood a major point of their campaigns.

Well, it seems my crew is here to take me to the airport, where we'll be embarking on a long and dangerous scientific expedition that should last for at least an hour or two, so that's all I can write for today. However, there is much more to learn about the llama, which you can discover by browsing the internet or perusing the resources at your local library. Areas of interest include Stephen Hawking's recent investigations into trans-temporal llama physics and the special quantum interactions of the llama's inherent magical field upon the motion of subatomic particles. You may also want to see if your dad has a copy of Monty Python's llama sketch, which covers many areas of llama physiology not examined in this blog.

Fare thee well, until we meet again,
---Uncle Travelling Matt