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March 4, 2008

Jim: Below A Hollow Tree

The dark pit reeked of blood, urine and fear; all mine, I’m afraid.

I was strapped hand and foot onto a massive iron chair, glaring straight ahead at the main inquisitoner’s tiny leer. “Look,” I repeated. “When somebody short and wearing a green outfit shouts “cookies for sale” outside my door, I just assume they’re a Girl Sc…”

A small fist struck my jaw like an iron bar. “We’re getting tired of playing nice with you,” sneered the elf. “So we’re sending in… Ernie.”

Hush fell over the crowd of little men as Ernie entered, wielding his uncommonly razor-sharp spatula.

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