Just a question: when's the deadline?
This will be perhaps the most random thing you will ever read...
Big black feet and an even larger head, he said, he said, he said, that it wasn’t his fault he’d fallen from his bed: a cradle in a tree which should have been a nest, but his father didn’t think that that was best; no his father didn’t think that that was best.
He wandered around for a day and a night; a pitiful, sorrowful, awkward sight. There was no sunlight to shine down on his face; he had left his family in a fit of disgrace; he could never go back to show his face; no he could never go back to show his face.
His wanders took him wide, took him far, took him long; he could not help it if he looked wrong; the cradle had been high and he’d fallen low, onto his beak which had just begun to grow. With a squashed hard beak and a swollen head, and huge black feet which one time had been red, he wandered alone through New Zealand land, till he came to the end and his feet touched sand. Yes he came to the end and his feet touched sand.
Gritty and hard with the sound of the sea, he decided this place was the place to be, much better than a place where he could fall from a tree; much better than a place where he could fall from a tree.
And so near the toi toi with their heads tall and fluffy, he accustomed himself to the heat high and stuffy, and wandered up the beach in a night and a day, and found somewhere nice where it was good to stay. This was a place where his feet could rest; where grubs nice and juicy were at their best, where sand met scrub and scrub met grass, beside a worn trail where feet did pass; beside a worn trail where feet did pass. Underneath toi toi on the grass by the scrub, and beside soft moss where his feet could rub, off all of the sand that had stuck to his feet, as he travelled the beach in the cool and the heat; as he travelled the beach in the cool and the heat.
Out from the beach stood a rock like a hill, where waves would crash at the wind’s every will; and watching, he decided to do, what he later hoped he wouldn’t come to rue; what he later hoped he wouldn’t come to rue.
The sun shined brightly and it baked the shore; he set off from home which had become a bore, and leaving wet footprints in the sinking sand, he set off for that rock hoping he would land, without crashing hard upon its raging shore, to come away broken, battered and very sore; to come away broken, battered and very sore.
The sea fought against him with a watery hate, and wettened, soaked, and strangled him into such a state, that a wave cast him back upon familiar sand, and left him there to come to terms with living on land. Left him there to come to terms with living on land.
But he wouldn’t give up, he wouldn’t give in; and just because of this he made a terrible din. Shouting stamping stomping he went over the shore, until his throat was hoarse and he could speak no more. Two days and then the plans were done and put into place; it was imperative (sincerative) he reach that place. To compensate for all that he had suffered and lost, with the form of his beak a very terrible cost, he had to reach that island and win it all back: gain a sense of accomplishment that he did lack; gain a sense of accomplishment that he did lack.
And so he cast himself into that swirling sea, but this time he had brought a trusty aid with he. Grabbing the dinghy he swung himself up, put the oar into the water with a watery ‘shlup’, and stroked the raging water with a cooling hand, wanting, waiting, hoping he would reach dry land.
Yes a dinghy was what he would use to reach his goal, until it sprung a leaky, spouty, tiny hole. He promptly plucked his wing and using feathers by the score, stopped up that pesky hole in wood-planked, dinghy floor. Yes stopped up that pesky hole in wood-planked dinghy floor.
Stroking madly, looking gladly, at the rock, he suddenly had a thought that made him chill and stop: how would he scale that craggy cliff that towered o’er he, as it rose so sharply rose so starkly from the sea? As it rose so sharply rose so starkly from, the, sea?
Even with a head so huge compared to his size, he had a tiny birdy brain that was not wise. And so with shruggings of his wings he made his way on, wishing for a trusty helmet he could don; to help him if he hurt himself by crashing headlong, to help him if he hurt himself by crashing headlong.
A wave rose up with a roar and a rumble, and with him riding at the top it did begin to tumble; with him flailing madly at the peak of the sea swell, his eyes fastened on the rock and he gave out a yell. And then just as quickly as it had began, the wave continued on until it ran, straight into craggy rock so very hard and thick, that for a moment the bird’s beak did stop and stick. Yes for a moment the bird’s bead did stop and stick, into the face of that rock so thick, and battered sternly he went on to fall straight down, into hate-filled sea where he knew he would drown.
But he ended up alive on the sand alone; the same sandy beach on which he’d made a home, and knowing he had done enough that past week, quietly back to loving parents he did creep.
That was the deciding factor that made me post this as it is. 
Hope you 'rofl'ed. 
^_^" Sorry!
! If more peeps come a contest may be commenced!