Wait for the Whiggle


Whiggles wait in your water. They lurk, laying low yet lucid in the lukewarm lakes. They plan, playing perfect plots and precise programs pitilessly in potted plants and pots and pans. They fight, fearlessly faking freak fire fish, flying into flowers and fruits, flailing into food, feigning the form of fully fledged Fnools.

Then everything becomes much easier, for Fnools, or even Whiggles which have taken the form of a Fnool, have no need for any trickery of words.



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