It was morning in Molyneuxland.
Peter yawned, stretched, ate his breakfast, packed his briefcase and walked to work.
It was a mildly sunny day. "My goodness!" said Peter "It is just about the most fantastic day I believe I have ever, or WILL ever witness, even if I live to one hundred and ten!" and with that he took millions and millions of pounds out of the ATM and started tucking the crisp twenty pound notes into the breast pockets of every tramp and ne'er-do-well he passed.
Some time later, a little grey cloud moved ever so slowly across the sky, and for a brief moment, for the blink of an eye, the beaming sun was dimmed.
Peter stopped in his tracks, his jaw gaping. "Oh my word" he gasped "My day - nay, my DREAMS - have been irredeemably and irrevocably barbarised and shattered. Nevermore will I look upon this world with the warmth of innocence and the eyes of a child, nevermore will I experience the beauty of existance as it permeates creation. Why? Why? All this must end. Twas a good life. Farewell Molyneuxland..." and he produced a rusty, blunt carving knife and pressed it against his carotid artery - closer... closer...
And all of a sudden, the little cloud moved. The sun beamed once again, and Peter's face froze.
Peter blinked, coughed, dropped the knife, and registering the look of concern on the face of one of the tramps to whom he had been so kind, he gave a big, silly, beaming smile; "Goodness me life is simply amazing my good man!" said Peter "I've just had a great idea. I'm going to make an on the rails feel 'em up game with dogs and farting!"
And with a click of his heels he marched purposefully in the direction of Lionhead HQ.
"if you dont like it do one elsewhere. stop getting up in arms as someone doesnt agree with you." - svd_grasshopper