A New Jungle

Once again, it has happened.  It is a rarity in the Forest, nearly as rare as the appearance of a SIMB.  In fact, there are old prophets who wander the circumference of the Bimmeron Stone who said it would not happen ever again in this lifetime of the Forest.

But they were wrong, being false prophets and all.  Plus, they drank a lot of Beermaker’s brew when they uttered their usually unintelligible “prophecies.”  Mostly, everybody completely ignored the ramblings of the drunken old sods.  They were jerks.

Anyway, what they drunkenly said would never happen again actually happened and it wasn’t a big surprise that the old geezers were wrong. 

Of course, the bottled llama knew nothing of the Drunken Prophets nor the Stone nor anything else except for its own scruffy self.  So, all unawares and all, it wandered into the newly formed Tropical Jungle Part of the Eternal Forest.

Right off, the bottled llama stumbled upon a Tiny Jungle Guy. 

“Dnaoodl””rrrs”’!!ladll;,” he said.  Oh, yeah, better translate that.  From henceforth onward, the TJG dialect shall be transliterated into standard English.  Sorry.  Let’s start that bit over.

Right off, the bottled llama stumbled upon a Tiny Jungle Guy.

“What a scroungy muffin you seem to be, all covered with icky molds or something.  Whyfore did ye trod upon my feet in such manner as ye did?” he said.

The bottled llama stared at TJG.  It’s elongated head, perched upon a sinewy neck, swayed like the boughs of an Eternal Tree in the non-existent breeze.  Its huge eyeballs flicked back and forth so swiftly it was weird.  Finally, it did what it always does when confronted with new things.

“Ewwww,” muttered TJG.  “First it trods on my feet and now it has vomited upon my sacred ground.  Die it must.”

A machete was suddenly in the little dude’s hand and cut a swift arc through the thick air towards the neck of the bottled llama.