So there I was, with the little piece of white string still wrapped around my index fingers, when a portal opened above my shower curtain and a being of light and grace popped out. You could have knocked me down with a feather. He/She/It (hard to tell) handed me a golden scroll, gave me a wink, and tootled off to more important matters.
It's bad news, guys. Brace yourself.
Dear Vegemites,
Mourn me not! For I am not dead. Well, actually, I am dead in the very real sense of the word, but it turns out there's a heaven and it's ACE! A bit like Butlins in a zoo but with room service. I've been given a lovely chalet with a real fireplace and an en-suite. I'm not even having to share, as there's no shortage of space given that this is a metaphysical state of being rather than an actual country. Marvellous.
So yes, you didn't save me from the desert island and Roary ate me. But I don't want you to feel bad about it. Life is just too short to spend in regret. However, I wouldn't like you to feel too good about yourselves either. You didn't really try to help, did you? And I'm not just talking about helping me. I'm talking about helping each other generally and being nice and good and kind and stuff like that. And growing more vegetables. It turns out growing more vegetables is the key to world peace. No, I'm not allowed to explain why. It has something to do with allotments, that's all I'm saying. You have to work it out for yourselves.
And so I bid you farewell. Ta ra. So long. Adieu, adieu, to you and you and you. Live long, and prosper. Or don't. I just hope you get lucky enough to be allocated a chalet next to me at the end of it all. I have to go - the synchronised swimming competition is just kicking off.
Angelic hugs,
Neilio.
Goodnight, sweet Playmobil Prince. We will miss you.
I wonder if he gets a reincarnation option. He probably wouldn't take it, though, what with a real fireplace and synchronised swimming, right?
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