The Wombat: It was a dark and putrid night, and the wind was hiding somewhere for fear of

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From: Floyd Gecko The Wombat: It was a dark and putrid night, and the wind was hiding somewhere for fear of being mugged. A dark shape emerged from the bar and staggered to the side of the road. It was a wombat. I could tell by the shape. Then it was mugged. The mugger leapt at it and hit it in the head. I ran towards it, but the street was rubbery, and I was bouncing far too much to reach the poor wombat before it's wallet was stolen. "Moan," moaned the creature. "Shut up," I told it. The mugger was running down the street with the money I'd planned to steal. Damn. I kicked the wombat, and ran after him. The wind whipped in my face from the speed of running, and I mugged it too. Not bad. A hundred and eleven bucks. An amex gold card, and... "How To Turn Wombat Skin Into A Working Submachine Gun In Four Easy Steps" -- a pamphlet. I ran back to where the wombat had been, but it had been spirited away. I sat gloomily on the pavement with my feet in the gutter. Then the wombat jumped me and tried to take the $111. Damned if I'd let a marsupial overpower ME. I clubbed it to death with the gold card. The dead wombat's pelt was hard to remove, but the prospect of a working submachine gun kept me going through the wee small hours of the morning. Finally, it was done. The skin was removed. I opened the pamphlet with hands stained by wombat innards. "HA HA," it laughed. "FOOLED YOU!" I cried inconsolably until I was mugged by a wombat corpse. To this day, I regret not driving the stake through that wombat's heart. If you've heard stories, called Urban Myths, perhaps, of an undead being that walks the streets, well you have me to blame. It leaps on people from a flame-red Harley-Davidson and gnaws their heads off, to turn them into it's undead minions. Some say that I am the only one ever to see it's gruesome eyes and live to tell the tale. Some don't. What do they know? It's the truth. I've tried for my whole life to rid this city of the unholy being, but I fear what they've long said: "Once beaten, twice a wombat shall kill you with a staplegun" Or something like that.

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