In a land not so far away (Orlando. Let's make this clear from the start. We're talking about Orlando. Not to be confused with Lake Buena Vista. Or Kissimmee. Or St. Cloud. Or Dr. Phillips. But Orlando, yes, Orlando.) (How many times can I write Orlando in a single post? Challenge accepted.) there were some armadillos.
Papa Armadillo, Momma Armadillo, and Baby Armadillo. One day, these three armadillos went outside of their humble abode to search for additional food (Baby Armadillo was the top pizza consumer in all of Orange County, despite popular belief of it being Hannah Richardson.) They searched far and they searched wide, but never could they find enough to satisfy Baby Armadillo's needs.
While they were out, a stranger (in a strange land) came across their living quarters. Locks of gold, this girl had! And she went to Papa and Momma Armadillo's bed (because she's in a strange land, so naturally she's *tired* and doesn't mind sleeping in some stranger's house.) "This bed is too hard!" she said, while also noting the MASSIVE indent from their bodies (not the brightest, this one, essentially sleeping in a semi-sphere bed...major back problems in the morning if she'd decided to stay.) So she moseyed on over to Baby Armadillo's room and found his bed. "This bed smells like pizza..." Locks of gold said out loud to nobody in particular. "And it looks like pizza too! IT IS PIZZA!"
Baby Armadillo, while searching for additional food, suddenly remember that his entire house was made of pizza. His parents were made of pizza! HIS LIFE WAS MADE OF PIZZA AND IT WAS A SHAM! Baby Armadillo rushed back to his house, found Locks of gold and invited her to his pizza party. They merrily consumed Papa and Momma Armadillo while feeling no remorse or grief. After all, non-pizza Papa and Momma Armadillo had left Baby Armadillo months ago for a late-night stroll along International Drive South, never to return. The pizza was delicious, Baby Armadillo was satisfied with his consumption, Locks of gold made a mental note that a pizza bed was now what she most desired in life, and they all lived happily ever after.
OR DID THEY.
Papa and Momma Armadillo hadn't really been hit by a car, as a nondescript earlier story would have you believe. They simply did not wish to care for their pizza-munching monster of a child any longer. They can still be seen taking their nightly strolls from time to time, as long as the temperature outside is at least 78 degrees per Roonil Wazlib's measurements. I see them often and wonder about pizza beds...
The end.
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