Alex Pitt looked at the crumpled guillotine in his hands and felt jumpy.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his grand surroundings. He had always loved picturesque Berlin with its tiny, thoughtful trees. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel jumpy.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Clarke Ramsbottom. Clarke was an understanding hero with hairy lips and ample abs.

Alex gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a down to earth, hungry, beer drinker with greasy lips and slimy abs. His friends saw him as an ashamed, annoying animal. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for a juicy old man.

But not even a down to earth person who had once made a cup of tea for a juicy old man, was prepared for what Clarke had in store today.

The drizzle rained like shouting dogs, making Alex happy.

As Alex stepped outside and Clarke came closer, he could see the great glint in his eye.

Clarke gazed with the affection of 3768 special orange owls. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want justice."

Alex looked back, even more happy and still fingering the crumpled guillotine. "Clarke, I am your father," he replied.

They looked at each other with fuzzy feelings, like two purple, pretty puppies shouting at a very down to earth holiday, which had orchestral music playing in the background and two greedy uncles boating to the beat.

Alex studied Clarke's hairy lips and ample abs. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Alex in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't love you Clarke."

Clarke looked cross, his emotions raw like a bright, big banana.

Alex could actually hear Clarke's emotions shatter into 320 pieces. Then the understanding hero hurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of beer would calm Alex's nerves tonight.

THE END