This was an article found on the floor in the residence of the late Mr. Issac Woodall of Kansas City, MO on January 17, 2005 . No clues as to what newspaper it was collected from but some document-hobbyists claim it never went to press. The article was written in German, thus this is my loose translation of said piece.

“Die Legende von Herrn Admiral Nacht die Seite Tänzer und der Platz Tätowieren”
January 10, 1866 by way of January 9, 1985 – A playful animal, the deer. Especially moon deer. Once in 1813, one of the deer, Sir Admiral Nightside Dancer, put on a wonderful display from the sweat of bipedal beavers. A temple, dedicated to Nightside, lit up so much that the Council of Fifteen decided it was going to alert Blue Planet (our earth) to their secret life. Not that earth would have the ability to travel to the moon at the time but 150 years was not enough time to scramble for cover.
The display included carousel-like deer prancing in slight light which is not unlike a combo of lasers and LEDs, only a bit dimmer due to CF guidelines. Lasers in almost a sepia tone would be correct.
Sir Admiral Nightside Dancer was very upset at the quenching of his extravaganza, so much that he almost put on a travel coat and went to earth to blend into the Hapsburgs but was stopped by CF just short of winged departure.
And now, when you look at the moon on January 15, you can see antlers and tears in what looks to be a fake constellation technique known as a Space Tattoo.

George Michael has a perch in his giant flat in London. It was only a rumour until now. When he pulls back his copy of “Can’t Reach October”, all the walls gain mysterious shadows that resemble the inside of a cage and a long plank of log slides out from a side wall about the height of where a second floor would be.
He stands on this perch and sounds you can’t hear anywhere else come alive. What a bird! What a beautiful bird he becomes! Charlotte Church once visited during his private time and fainted from wonderous clarity! He promptly smoked two cigars so that she would think it was only a dream.
Well, anyways, you will never hear this angelic audio for it is for no one but George.
One day, while wiping his forehead with a cloth due to a clean perspiration, George felt a new stubble on his cheek. He stroked it, thinking, in the same manner as a think-stroke, and noticed it wasn’t his own!
He had come by someone else’s stubble! Believe it or Not!

One time there was this kid who needed money for puppy. And so he got a job with his neighbor’s farmer. The farmer pretty much just needed shit shoveled and put in a pile. Boy wow did that pile have some stink!
Meanwhile, a goat was learning to speak. It was still a dumb goat but on a goat level, it was pretty smart. That goat was working on sentences, passing the kindergarten that the farmer had set up in the chicken coop away from the other goats because dumb rubs off so easily.
A goat learning to talk is sort of like learning to ride a bike on two wheels. Almost, almost . . . and then you just baaaah(goat sound).
Meanwhile, the boy had almost finished for the day and was going to the area where the donkey and the two mules were kept. And someone was about to get his chocolate into someone’s peanut butter.
The goat saw the boy and was angry, a passionate angry even about seeing a boy steal the donkey’s poop.
And like a magician who doesn’t practice, the goat trotted over to the boy, stopped, panted, and said,
“A donkey made that special.”

and Milk looked down and saw blood dripping on the ground. forgetting his first word, he became confused, not knowing that he too had wandered, all the way to Colorado where nosebleeds are frequent.
the hunter’s child, too, had a nosebleed. and soon, the whole forest looked as if they’d all eaten red velvet cake batter through their noses. it was some sight.
the mayor of boulder decided for the state of colorado that the day be named Dia de Sangre and then Ted said, “why not name it Nosebleed Day, instead?”
Ted became mayor the next year and won the whipped cream eating contest on Nosebleed Day the following year.
what was even better to a few was Nosebleed’s Eve. some say they saw a young child riding a deer with a white saddle, both eating candy apples which in boulder is now nosebleed red and not candy-apple red but still just as good.

there was this deer and the deer’s name was Milk. his mom named him such because he had a splash of white on his back. Milk never outgrew his name or his splash. one day a hunter’s child saw Milk eating a sunflower. now what’s peculiar here is that the sunflower grew in the woods, away from sunlight. the hunter’s child had wandered as his father was watching a fishing show on his portable. when Milk saw the hunter’s child he jumped sideways and kept one eye on the child for deer are good at one-eye stares.
the hunter’s child said, “Hello, what’s your name? I think my dad calls you Good Sausage.”
Milk strained like an animatronic puppet, trying to get the words out, but everytime he tried to speak he only grunted a bit at most.
when commercials interupted the bass catch on the tv, the hunter called for his child.
the hunter’s child heard such call and said, “I’ll be right back, deer.”
and Milk blurted the word, “Okay.”

I smelled the blood of a werewolf once and it was stinky. Like pent-up dinner from long ago let loose from its tupperware container. That’s what wereblood smells like. So, I bottled it up and got it to where I can spray it where ever there are too many farters.