30 January 2003 -
11:47 a.m.
So Bill MacMillan opened his front door to find three tiny men dressed in moss and mushrooms on his front steps. They each spoke in turn, one word each, forming sentances.
They said, "We. . . are. . . here. . . to. . . each. . . grant. . . you. . . a. . . wish. . .
Bill thought for a moment, but he just couldn't resist. He wound up and kicked each of the little men like footballs over the house across the street. When the last little man disappeared over the neighbor's roof, Bill put up both his arms like a referee indicating a field-goal.
Then he made some coffee.
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