In the beginning of reading of Allan Pants’ new book, briefly called Allan on His Pants, every word surprised me. However, a number of questions came up in the middle of the surprises in the form of, for example, the word “it”: Was it Allan’s own pants? Didn’t he wear pants? If so, why not? Fortunately, these lemon-yellow questions were quickly answered: It was, in actual fact, Allan’s own pants. At one point he walked around without pants. The reason was that he had forgotten to put them on.
After answering the questions, the author indulges in a lengthy description of various green things in chapter two, while the reader cunningly skips four chapters.
Oops! Should not have done. The reader has unsuspectingly opened a tobacco shop in the middle of a knight’s market, while the author can, haughtily and in an uplifting voice, continue his stupid story.
