FLOOD DAMAGE

The moosemen of Prudhoe land were nervous. “You want to go to Amerika? Why?” asked the chief. “Because it is there,” said Naked Seconds, the small wheel-chair bound boy, barely containing his rage, “Someone must get into the giant metal bird and fly to Amerika to set them straight about a few things.” Thus the rebirth of Flood Damage began, helmed by insanity, new and improved, spreadable on toast. Beware.

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