The wombat loked to his left, yep, okay. Then, this huge thing with tentacles and everything descended. And he KNEW better! So the wombat, who was named Womby, began to throw huge gobs of spittle his way, using that new fangled tongue he had been left in the will of that Russian guy.
So he turns around thinking, "Problem solved," but no. He turns around to avoid a nuclear meltdown and what does he hear but "aing aing aing". "Qu'est ce hell?" he wonders, but it is too late, and he is dead. A nearby vermouth warrior says the necessary prayers, but no extra, less he be indiscreet and endure the wrath of the roman fucking empire.
Of course, the roman fucking empire is a bunch of stringent bastards, so they finish plotting their cute little x-y co-ordinates and start mocking the bastard like he was a third planet or something. The vermouth warrior knows what to do, and does it.. only, he does it TOO MUCH... and soon, the world is kneeling down in preparation for the swanky cloth of yore. Only this christmas, there will be no smute under the tree.
No, Hasbro saw to that. A few dragons always seemed to subdue any vermouth warriors which should attempt to 'hatch his egg'. EH? Its a proverb. The women ran back to the tent and pretended to cry, but we knew better, having launched our knittingware at least 5 yars before Perseus had whiskers, and that was one mature goat.
Hasbro quickly dealt out the final blow to the vermouth warrior who joined Womby in the gravesite, where they had tea for the next few years. Hasbro proclaimed to the entire Land of Glass, "The roman fucking empire will prevail."
"Hasbro, hasbro, hasbro," cried Perseus as he flew down from the sky, testing the waters by biting Hasbro's gut. He picked up the novel, brushed off the dust cover and revealed that there was no roman fucking empire. Hasbro sniffled and exploded... twice.