With the bunting yet to abate and no end to its replication in sight (seriously, do these things reproduce asexually or something?), the Club-Footed Gremlin begins packing his things in search of greener pastures, where arbitrary decoration doesn’t dictate your directives.
Bindle over shoulder, our hero takes one look behind him before setting off on that old dusty trail–he really didn’t put a whole lot of thought into this pilgrimage, seeing as he has no mode of transportation and, well, a club foot.
It’s at this moment that Mr. Gremlin Man (the moniker he’s hoping will stick, or even just MGM for short) decides to go the whole nine yards and make like the pilgrims of old by prostrating himself and crawling to his destination. That definitely sucks, since he has a whole steamer trunk full of crap he wanted to lug around with him in the event of any one of numerous hijinks and/or shenanigans he may encounter.
But no, minimalism is apparently the name of the game here. MGM frets for a minute about how he’s going to sate his addiction to instant gratification, but then remembers the phone in his front pocket. As long as he can get to some outlets before the day is over, he will be able to rest easier and charge hardier.
This piece is a direct sequel to Bunting.