The TRUTH

Once upon a time (although I don't know why I'm starting like this) there was an omnium-gatherum of benthic scqizxi, which are fish-like animals with an always-changing language. These scqizxi look different from most scqizxi - for example, their mouths were below their noses, they were all one color, and they were different shapes. Okay, they weren't different shapes; I just made that up. Why can't a person writing a fictional story lie?

"Aaaaaa!" came a poignant scream from a plant that was being masticated.

"That plant didn't scream!" the scqizix that hurt the plant told me. I forgot to tell you that I, the narrator, am Lifholz (pronounced "LIE-false" /ˈlaɪ.fɑls/), the scqizix who always tells the truth.

"The only time you tell the truth is in quotation marks," said Olwiztroothe (pronounced Al-WIZ-lie /ˈɑl.wɪz.laɪ/), who always lies. He's also indolent, like everyone else besides me.

"We work all day, and all you do is lie around and lie," said Olwiztroothe. They can't read my story anyways because it's so dark down here. If they could, they'd know it's all true and propriety.

"Propriety isn't an adjective," said the scqizix with gout, "and I don't have any joints, let alone a big toe!"

I'll be done with this story in a jiffy - I've used all the words I need to. Maybe I can be vindicate from lying.

"That's also not an adjective!"