On closer inspection of the parcel, Phil and his mother discovered strange hieroglyphic markings denoting powerful figures poised for confrontation, or perhaps just irritated.
"Hey, do these look like hieroglyphic markings to you?" Phil asked. Betty quickly replied "Hm. Strange ones. They seem poised for something." Phil nodded, "poised for confrontation, you think?" Betty shrugged, re-read the above paragraph and quickly added "could be, or, perhaps they're just irritated?"
Oddly enough, neither Phil nor Betty was able to discover any obvious method of opening it.
"Should we keep paraphrasing by talking?" Phil asked his Mother.
"Shh, I can't seem to come up with any obvious method of opening this parcel with strange hieroglyphic markings denoting..."
Phil interrupted his mother kindly "we did that already."
"Oh. Right." she smiled.
Like a volcano erupting, they realized simultaneously what fools they had been. The package could only be opened by a REAL Scotsman! Phil's accent (or perhaps Phil's brain's accent) had only given them clearance for the acceptance of the package! (what a coincidence!)
They required Scottish skill, or at least Scottish severed hands, to open the peculiar package.
What a divine plot!
Phil decided it was best that his family didn't become involved.
That same night, Phil packed up everything he would need: his tooth-brush, comb, and other hygiene products, some extra clothes, a jock-strap, and his 'plastic junior woodchuck training knife' that had been given to him by his senile old grandmother who still thought he was around nine or ten.
Phil, gazing at his reflection in the mirror, flexed his muscles underneath his old tattered shirt. Nothing miraculous happened.
He decided he would take the next flight to, well, to Scotland he guessed. He decided that he would take the next flight to Scotland.
How could you best encourage a blogger to blog?
How could you best encourage a blogger to blog?
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