Sitting down from a weary travel I find something wiggling on my jowel. Brave souls have seen my beard as white as snow and now it's crawling with blackened beetle dung. Beetles on top of beard on top of beetles on top of beetle beard and dung beneath beetles at that. Only one thing can stop me from screaming to the heavens and that is a tree trimmer neath my arm. Bring the tree trimmers youngsters. Away!
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