the pretty ponies are staring at me. my lies are taken in with slight prejudice. this is not good. i'm usually very good with lying or shall i say, faking it. ok. stop. my reality ends here. i shall begin my craptail again. and so, with my new cloak on my side, i fear less the door that leads to nowhere. the behemoth is on my back as i tell the invisible man to appear. he tells me i am growing a tail to which i reply " what? how dare you accuse of such torrid affairs! " then i hear a tune in the air, louder and louder it roared and yet i do not move. i am apprehensive about agoraphobia. i mean to say these words to confuse you. vagueness is required to fill in these blanks. you tell me the story.