aka 'White Lightning'
And if you can't, you can kiss my arse.
But let's not dwell on such negative matters. Allow me instead to engage your imagination with the following true story:
The tale begins fifteen years ago, with the death of my uncle George. My uncle and I were always close, and so his death came as more than a shock to me.
I knew this man for all my life, and would visit him every weekend as a child. He would regail me with outlandish tales, which, much like the one you are reading now, couldn't possibly be true.
He also took great pleasure in his hobbies. The strangest of which was his flea circus. At it's height, my uncle had over one hundred fleas performing all kinds of astounding feats. I could spend hours watching those fleas perform, and often did!
But tradgedy struck, when in 1987, all but one of my uncle's fleas were killed by the great flea plague. My uncle was devastated. He vowed that he would never again own so many fleas. He kept the one remaining flea in a matchbox.
It was this matchbox that I inherited. Yes, just the matchbox. Unfortunately, the flea had died sometime earlier.
Even though the matchbox itself was worthless, I kept it as a cherished reminder of my late uncle.
And this, dear reader, is where the story really begins.
To be continued...