"With hard rubbing, I managed to get some of the ink off, but when I went on rubbing, to remove the rest, the ink I had rubbed off was transferred back to my face. And so it went, the adament ink going from washrag to face and from face back to washrag.
"The ink, as I have said, was double-strength purple undiluted, and suffered nothing in the process. But something had to give way. The washrag, by an unhappy coincidence, was a brand-new one, and my face was some years old. Only one thing could have happened. It did."
Thus, shedding a tear on the carpet, the old stranger ended his weird tale. Getting slowly to his feet, he drew his hat down over his eyes once more, tied his socks around his neck more tightly, and shuffled off toward the shattered windows. At the sill, he turned, faced the room, and made one last parting shot, ere he vanished in the gloom. "Dogs have fleas!" he screamed.
But sometimes I wonder.
I'VE NEVER SEEN
by Hannes Bok
I've never seen a Flirtenflog.
I've heard that it's a Martian dog.
But science-fiction has romanced
That the Martian race is much advanced;
So thus my reasoning should be,
Has a Flirtenflog ever seen ME??????
HAVE YOU TRIED READING