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You didn’t really, did you? You know, just because I’m a skull now doesn’t mean I wasn’t a head at some point, that belonged to a body, that was a teenager, that laughed for hours, because 5318008 on a calculator, upside down, spelled “Boobies.” Number boobies is right up there on the humor chart as the word ‘fart.’

You’re smiling right now, right? Sigh. What kind of readers have I attracted? Fart/booby giggling ones, apparently.

Well, that wasn’t the answer. 1 Goose, 2 Geese, in numbers, read upside down, is a little more complex than ‘boobies.’

But enough about fun bags; let’s go back to the story.

Obviously, announcing Boobies to the grumbling voice behind the doors resulted in the little hole being slammed shut out of sheer bad taste. Even if you spelled it out in alphanumeric code, it still doesn’t take away from the immaturity of it. And yes, I am aware that I can’t scold too much, since, while I, Sam the skull, am narrating the story to you, the author of this web serial was the one who put ‘Boobies’ as an option in the first place. Obviously thinking about leetspeak (the fancy name for spelling words with numbers), the first word that came to her mind was the slang term for the chesticles.

The team stood staring at each other, not sure what to do. After a while, Dave came jogging back, with his entire sleeve and the bottom of his pants drenched.

“Ball removed. The flood is receding now. Why aren’t you all on the way to the dam?”

They all looked at him.

“What?” he asked.

“5318008,” Rammi mumbled.

“Ha!” Dave said. “Boobies. Classic.”

There was a loud cracking noise, and they looked up to see the last moments before the dam collapsed. Birds, dragons, and other odd flying beasts all took to the sky for safety, as the water burst out and bounded to them like a golden retriever that just downed a triple espresso (please don’t actually give your golden retriever caffeine – or coffee to any type of dog, for that matter. Combining that much caffeine with that much blind optimism would tear a hole in the fabric of space-time). It wasn’t long before other humans leaked out of the other buildings, and all types of creatures appeared out of holes, all in a vain attempt to run from the frothy, invincible water. The ground rumbled and grumbled, as if the earth had eaten too much cake for breakfast, as the wave approached.

After that, none of them really remember much. Everything was washed out to sea, and then fell off the side of the world. Or something. There’s an edge there, right? I never did well in geography. Darkness, then a bright light. The Grim Reaper always likes to flash a small doctor torch in the dead’s eyes to ensure they actually are dead. He has to, ever since that one time.

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Oh well. At least the beavers didn’t die. As per policy, no animals were harmed during the writing of this story. But humans, we have oodles of them, so it’s OK if we lose a few of those. They like small building blocks (you know the trademark stuff we can’t mention by name, as then we have to pay those 0631 people money ((double bracket – see what I did there with the numbers! Haha! I’m getting the hang of this leetspeak)) )… Geez, after all those brackets, I need to repeat myself here. Umm. Small building block pieces that end up under the couch. Too much hassle to fetch. We’ll suck it out and throw in the bin.

Wait, what were we talking about? Oh yes! Let’s try that number conundrum again, but this time think GOOSE!