THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER
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THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER
There once was a man named Stanley. He had an... ummm... what do you call it again?
*papers rustling*
Ah! It says here he had a mfjzkzjsdjasodiekladin. Don't quite remember the details, not sure I want to. Anyways, this Isn't his story.
This is the story, of a stallion named Norman. Norman worked for a company in a big building, where he was employee number 578, employee number 578's job was simple: He sat at his desk in room 578 and he pushed buttons on a table. Commands came from a chute to his left, telling him which buttons to press, how long to press them, and in what order.
This is what employee number 578 did every day, of every month, of every year. And while other ponies may have con- wait. PONIES? I was NOT informed of this! Ugh... fine. I will over look it this once. But you had better hope there's no more of that. Now, where was I? Ah... yes. And while other ponies may have considered it soul rending, Norman relished every moment the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job.
And Norman was happy.
And then one day,
