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It was just your average day at the farm except smaller. Bob was in the house gnawing on his shovel, when all of a sudden the shovel managed to push itself into the entirity of Bob's mouth. He struggled saying, well not actually saying anything because, through some fatal accident Bob was rendered speechless. No, that's not true either, the fact is that Bob could never speak for he was a wombat. And wombats, at least to my knowledge don't know the alphabet. Without the alphabet everything is lost. Now back to our story. Here's Bob sitting on the floor in his living room, engulfing a shovel of his own free will. Perhaps it was the wind which caused him to utter a little screaming, it all goes with the enjoyment of the shovel. Well actually to tell the truth, Bob doesn't even own a shovel, much less a goose. Whoever is spreading rumours about that goose is totally off base. He's coming forth, he's admitting that the goose story is indeed true. I am truly sorry for spreading the rumour that it was false, maybe I'll just go now. No, there wouldn't be much point in that, would there? There would, well okay if you insist. Then she was gone in a cloud of talcum powder, she was no more. All that was left in her place was a slightly discoloured kumquat. Bob picks it up slowly, being careful not to hurt it. Then he turns and wanders off to that big fig tree in the distance. Hoping that when he gets there the world will be a better place. Of course Bob is never allowed to reach his destination, because if he did there would be chaos. When he is about half way there, he will be picked up by a giant swan, and taken to the place that wombats fear the most. Yes that's right, Salem. For there the wombats are made into slaves and are made to swim in the murky water, diving for pearls. Yet that is Bob's fate. Face it head on Bob and don't be afraid. Enjoy the ride, over the tropical desert, it will be a sight to behold. Then he was gone.