For some time now, Little Hairy-Harry had been feeling ill at ease. Every time a missile was fired, his immediate proximity became covered with a slimy substance that was most offensive to his sensitive nostrils. Being delicate and refined and fully occupied with the quest for the perfect trench coat for his future career, he felt sullied, both inside and out. Things simply could not carry on like this.
He longed for a favourable shower of rain, for the chance to dive into the deep blue water he had caught a glimpse of just the other day. Little Hairy-Harry comforted himself with the thought that this was probably a test for his special status as Top Secret Agent.
One morning, Little Hairy-Harry spotted something ghastly in his little mirror… a pimple on his nose. He refused to let it get him down, however. On the contrary, he felt charged up, invincible, poised for combat.
‘I will survive!’ he sang, puffing up his puny chest.
No comments:
Post a Comment