Cruck the Glock, does not reign upon a parcel of swamp. A creature of refinement, he does not enjoy the company of puns and especially not the conveyance thereof by those who partake in crockalicious actitivies. Cruck, though, happens to be passing by a parcel of swamp owned by Gluck the Crock. In accordance to Crucks' wishes, I will not narrate his encounter with Gluck the Crock, which may offend his delicate sensibilities when he receives a copy of this script. I will, though, reveal my documentation of Crucks' reaction to the encounter.
HA! Just kidding, I wont............ No, actually, I will. Maybe.
Now, if you have boots nearby, it would be nice if you were to wear them. Well, actually, sneakers would be fine. Heck, sandals would do. UNLESS IF YOU'RE WEARING SOCKS. REPEAT: DO NOT DON SANDALS IF YOU'RE ALREADY WEARING SOCKS.
In some dimension (lets call this the dimension of persons usually without the propensity of not lacking in comprehension, the articulation of magiks), a television set with a power crank on the side was stashed in a trenchcoat. This trenchcoat has the serendipidious ability of turning into a cape when the plot doesn't seem to go anywhere. It's certainly not going anywhere now, so lets take this story back to when the trenchcoat turned itself into a cape, by which I don't mean to literally print out a copy of this and find a magical trenchcoat/cape to stash this in, although if you do, that'd be really cool, cause I'm fond of gratuitious uses of recursion,like mentioning Ouroboros, the serpent which perpetually swallows its tail, out of context, like right now. So in the process of this trenchcoat being turned into a cape, the television with the crank dropped to the ground. The wearer of the cape suddenly had a really strong moment of narccistic self-reflection and felt as though this detail was inconsequential to whatever sequence of events of which this wearer thought of him/herself to be likely to participate. Due to the natural movement of things, this television set found its way to Glucks' parcel of swamp. Actually, I placed it in the swamp. It's just cooler to think that nature were to mimic one of Rube Goldbergs' contraptions like the "The Land Before Time" where that egg literally sees the world before it hatches as though natures' primary concern, though seeming to act as nature acts, was to participate in the transportation of that particular egg. Okay, I'll shut. Gluck found it and wound it until it sounded and Gluck said "confounded!" and on a saggy bog, his fists pounded. A television program started just then.
"Bzzz! ReeeerrroooooDKKzz.... Do you own huge tracks of land? Would you like to build a castle on your huge track of land and watch it sink? Are all guys you meet very friendly to you? Then call this toll-free number right now."
Gluck suddenly had an urge to collect all the large rocks in the area and form a large castle with them on his swamp. Since the television broadcast was held only in the dimension of persons usually without the propensity of not lacking in comprehension, the articulation of magiks, I have no clue why Gluck is collecting rocks right now.
After his encounter with Gluck the Crock, Cruck the Glock thought "I have never in my life met anyone so ill suited to the rather oppresive confines and demands of the natural world. I can only hope that Mr., or Ms/Mrs. Evolution him, or herself finds it in his, or her heart, to open a new, rather large, sharp-edged can of worms, and to enact a scene with the can and Gluck, of which that guy from the Tell-tale Heart would approve, and to stash the remains of Gluck, along with the worms, back in the can. On second thought, the worms deserve better. On third thought..."
Glucks' epiphany: "I no longer find any pleasure in Crockalicious activities. Building a castle is as lacking in crockaliciousness as anything I could think of so lets build one!".
Crucks' epiphany: "Upon inspection, it doesn't seem as though this natural world makes any sense whatsoever, which would mean I'm at fault for attempting to make sense of it. Since I offend its nearly perfect mix of inperfection, it's really I who doesn't belong. I suppose the only way to perfectly resolve this is to imperfectly rid myself of perfection" Cruck disappeared in a whiff of near perfection of an imperfect natural world.
Glucks' second epiphany: "I suppose that anything I do would be defined Crockalicious since I'm a Crock. I want a species-change!". Thus, Gluck the Crock becomes Glucrock, the Cruckglock. Shi (hermaphroditic pronoun) goes on in a mostly non-crockolicious gesture, to complete the castle in the swamp and is now gleefully watching it sink, for the first time.
I hope you found the boots useful. I don't recommend taking them off until the end of the hour as thinking about Cruckglocks may get you wet. It's you know, a psychology thing.