Thursday, March 10

"I live in a rectangle house only slightly larger than my total body mass," says Mansard. "I fit snug and cozy."

"Does it have a dishwasher?" asks Concord. It can be hard to understand Concord sometimes since instead of a mouth he has large tusks to speak with.

"What?" asks Phraseberry. He has never understood a word Concord has ever said to him.

"Dishwasher," says Concord. "I was wondering if his place has a dishwasher."

"Oh," Phraseberry says as he nods his head. All he heard was some mumbling.

"No dishes or washers or anything," answers Mansard. "The whole place is only slightly larger than my entire body mass. I don't even have room to itch my face when it itches. Which it always does."

"That's the best idea Ever!" shouts Phraseberry as he grabs his friends and hugs them tightly to his slippery chest. "We can be roomates!"

Concord says, "I like the apartment I already have."

"Yeah! We can all move into my Dank Home-Hole," Phraseberry hugs them tighter. "We're already best friends, so there's no problem there. And we'll save a ton on rent."

The large tentacled monster drags them both back to his place, which is dark and musty and smells like carcass. He sits Concord on a small rock and places Mansard in a small shelf dug into the rock wall. "See? Nice and cozy."

He lights a fire in the fire pit, which is far too hot for such delicate roomates as Phraseberry now has, and they both begin to sweat profusely.

"Can you turn the fire down?" asks Concord, sweat dripping down his tusks like a little faucet.

"No, I don't think we'll ever fight ever about anything," says Phraseberry as he shuffles his collection of rocks and twigs around in circles. "Good roomates never fight. We'll be so happy."

Forty-seven hours later when Phraseberry finally collapses from exhaustion, Concord and Mansard have words with each other.

"I don't like living with Phraseberry very much," says Mansard. "My old home had sligthly more room than my body mass. I could scratch my face when it itched, which it always does. In this square-shaped shelf, I have no room at all."

"And I'm far too hot, and have shriveled up into a tiny tusked-raisin-friend," which is true.

"What are we going to do?"

"Make the best of it?" Concord tries to do a Shrivel Dance, but only shrivles.

"Oh," Mansard tries to scratch his face with his face, but finds it to be completely impossible. "Okay. We'll make the best of it."

Which is what they do.

Eventually Phraseberry finds a better hole to live in, and moves out. The new roomate, a very famous actress/singer/fashion designer, is much nicer, and feeds Concord and Mansard every now and then. Even more eventually later, a new landlord wishes to turn the hole into some condos, so Mansard and Concord are evicted. They get jobs with a traveling Deli, write sonnets about sliced meat, and statues in their honor are errected in parks accross the world while they are still alive.

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