As a youngster, I always wanted my own magic carpet. And, being the open-minded sort, I rather believed I could make it happen.
Swiping an old rug from the family broom-cupboard, I several times leapt off the living room sofa with delighted abandon. Soaring mightily into the ground with unexpected frequency, I determined that leaping from such heights was absurd. Perhaps springing from the more elevated arm-rest would provide an adequate trajectory for the carpet to awaken from its slumber.
Of course, being an open-minded child, I also naturally wanted my own wash-basket. Just a few days ago, my greatest Christmas wishes were answered, for a great white beast of a clothes-hamper has come into my possession. Measuring over a metre in height, I am quietly assured that this will afford my carpet sufficient time to rouse itself when I undertake to fly again.
About me
I'm Jack. Sometimes my hair is untidy, riddled with goblins and smurfs. When I scream into the Grand Canyon, it inspires pained howling in wild dogs and wily coyotes, and compels all leaf-eating mammals to scuttle for higher ground in wait of the great flood. I think Goku is an existential paragon. My life's trajectory is adjusted towards becoming a hermit and dying alone somewhere on top of a golden mountain at sunset. Which is a jolly good innings, all told.
