"For the love of His Noodly Appendage," Tom X. griped, "can't you do anything
right? You were supposed to dress as X L, not Excel!"
"But..."
"No, it is not the same thing!"
"But I don't even know who this 'X.L.' character is!"
"Oh." There was a long pause. "Well, Al came as Ilpallazzo, so I guess
I'll let it slide this time, but next time you mess up, Rolly --
hey, come back!"
"No way! I'm in no mood to be yelled at. And when did you get put in charge?"
"Ever since the gods on Olympus looked down at earth and decided that if
ever there was a mortal who should rule, it was Tom X."
Suddenly, there was a flash of lightning and
cats started falling from the sky. This was a rare but not unheard-of event, as the street was surrounded by tall apartment buildings in which there dwelt a number of felines, many of which could be found sunning themselves on the balconies at any given time. Sudden flashes of lightning tended to startle them, and a small but significant number would fall off each time this happened. Tom, however, had never seen this, and came to a mistaken conclusion.
He assumed that he was being attacked by Feral Felines -- an Asian gang he had read about. Thus, he pulled out his pop-gun and scared away all those who survived the fall. But what happened to those not surviving?
Was there any truth to the rumor that they ended up as hockey commentators in Irish Rover songs? 'Round about then, everything went black as a particularly pudgy puss previously precariously perched on a penthouse parapet plummeted plop! precisely onto Tom's pate.
See, I told you to dress as X L the super heroes. Then we would not have to deal with this mess today.