You know, I remember a time when everyone was able to own their own cows. Hell, it was instated by the law that every househeld must own one to two cows within any city limits. Those cows were good eating, but it was then that I realized they weren't meant for eating. It was against our unalienable rights given in the Declaration of Depercandescence: Death, Opression, and the pursuit of sadness. So I then became a fugitive, constantly avoiding the law, ever wondering when that giant gray bugspray bottle was going to obliterate me. My first escape route was to sweden, located right underneath mexico and east of Jupiter. There I met a woman named Greg whom didn't seem like a woman, but that was what I thought. After that I walked so far that I no longer had the strength to walk so I ran. Unfortunately that was when they found me; in a secret walmart base hidden deep within the Atlantic Ocean. I was sentenced to life in a gas station bathroom, where I then lived the rest of my life amusing my self with a paper clip until I died and went to hell. The end of The story's end of.