My tale begins, as tales often do, with the beginning…

In the beginning, my tale begins…

The beginning of what? Of my tale you twit! Pay attention.

Here it is, the beginning of The Tale of Arthozzal…

            Arthozzal Umungus, half-crazed with senility, was fitting himself for prosthetic ears. His workshop, delicately organized in grand disarray, was a cacophonic cacophony of artistic visions, leftover vittles, and various unnamables. What should occur, to his undying irritance, but the approach of seven whining acolytes, babbling nonsensically and otherwise causing a ruckus? Nothing. That’s what.

As is the nature of such things, the acolytes, in their supreme crescendo of whining begged the mighty Illuminator to tell them his tale.

            And this is the tale he told…

            Arthozzal Umungus, half-crazed with senility, was fitting himself for prosthetic ears. His workshop, delicately organized in grand disarray, was a cacophonic cacophony of artistic visions, leftover vittles, and various unnamables. What should occur, to his undying irritance, but the approach of seven whining acolytes, babbling nonsensically and otherwise causing a ruckus? Nothing. That’s what.

As is the nature of such things, the acolytes, in their supreme crescendo of whining begged the mighty Illuminator to tell them his tale.

            And this is the tale he told…

            Arthozzal Umungus, half-crazed with senility, was fitting himself for prosthetic ears. His workshop, delicately organized in grand disarray, was a cacophonic cacophony of artistic visions, leftover vittles, and various unnamables. What should occur, to his undying irritance, but the approach of seven whining acolytes, babbling nonsensically and otherwise causing a ruckus? Nothing. That’s what.

As is the nature of such things, the acolytes, in their supreme crescendo of whining begged the mighty Illuminator to tell them his tale.

            And this is the tale he told…

            Arthozzal Umungus, half-crazed with senility, was fitting himself for prosthetic ears. His workshop, delicately organized in grand disarray, was a cacophonic cacophony of artistic visions, leftover vittles, and various unnamables. What should occur, to his undying irritance, but the approach of seven whining acolytes, babbling nonsensically and otherwise causing a ruckus? Nothing. That’s what.

As is the nature of such things, the acolytes, in their supreme crescendo of whining begged the mighty Illuminator to tell them his tale.

            And this is the tale he told…

            Arthozzal Umungus, half-crazed with senility, was fitting himself for prosthetic ears. His workshop, delicately organized in grand disarray, was a cacophonic cacophony of artistic visions, leftover vittles, and various unnamables. What should occur, to his undying irritance, but the approach of seven whining acolytes, babbling nonsensically and otherwise causing a ruckus? Nothing. That’s what.

As is the nature of such things, the acolytes, in their supreme crescendo of whining begged the mighty Illuminator to tell them his tale.

            And this is the tale he told…

            Arthozzal Umungus, half-crazed with senility, was fitting himself for prosthetic ears. His workshop, delicately organized in grand disarray, was a cacophonic cacophony of artistic visions, leftover vittles, and various unnamables. What should occur, to his undying irritance, but the approach of seven whining acolytes, babbling nonsensically and otherwise causing a ruckus? Nothing. That’s what.

As is the nature of such things, the acolytes, in their supreme crescendo of whining begged the mighty Illuminator to tell them his tale.

            And this is the tale he told…

            Arthozzal Umungus, half-crazed with senility, was fitting himself for prosthetic ears. His workshop, delicately organized in grand disarray, was a cacophonic cacophony of artistic visions, leftover vittles, and various unnamables. What should occur, to his undying irritance, but the approach of seven whining acolytes, babbling nonsensically and otherwise causing a ruckus? Nothing. That’s what.

As is the nature of such things, the acolytes, in their supreme crescendo of whining begged the mighty Illuminator to tell them his tale.

            And this is the tale he told…

            Arthozzal Umungus, half-crazed with senility, was fitting himself for prosthetic ears. His workshop, delicately organized in grand disarray, was a cacophonic cacophony of artistic visions, leftover vittles, and various unnamables. What should occur, to his undying irritance, but the approach of seven whining acolytes, babbling nonsensically and otherwise causing a ruckus? Nothing. That’s what.

As is the nature of such things, the acolytes, in their supreme crescendo of whining begged the mighty Illuminator to tell them his tale.

            And this is the tale he told…

            Arthozzal Umungus, half-crazed with senility, was fitting himself for prosthetic ears. His workshop, delicately organized in grand disarray, was a cacophonic cacophony of artistic visions, leftover vittles, and various unnamables. What should occur, to his undying irritance, but the approach of seven whining acolytes, babbling nonsensically and otherwise causing a ruckus? Nothing. That’s what.

As is the nature of such things, the acolytes, in their supreme crescendo of whining begged the mighty Illuminator to tell them his tale.

            And this is the tale he told…

Now go away.