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The Fable of the Fox’s Fax

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Staff Alumni
apparently this is the G rated version :rolleyes:

Fox faced a fix, Fox couldn’t fax, for Fox’s fax was fried. “Fax failure forfeits fortunes faxing flax futures.” Figured Fox, frantically phoning Phoebe the Frugal Fax Fixer from Phoenix, who features fast fax fixes for flat fees of fifty French Francs. “Fix my freaking fax!” Fox fumed furiously.

Phoebe’s fastest field fax-fixer, Pheasant, flew to Fox’s flat. Pheasant found flocks of faulty fuses, a familiar foible of funky faxes from Formosa. Fetching fistfuls of fresh fuses forced Fox’s fax to function with flawless finesse, faithfully focusing phalanxes of photons in phase with faraway photoelectron flux.

“Phooey!” Fox fussed, flipping Pheasant the finger. “I fail to fathom fifty French francs for fifteen-pfennig fuses. Forget fiscal funds for fallacious fax-fix!”

Pheasant fervently feared fowl finagling, for Pheasant failed to find her feathers following the forementioned Fox’s fax-fix fiasco four fortnights from February. Pheasant flew forthwith, fleeing Fox’s flat.

Pheasant fingered Fox, forwarding fiendishly-forged fax to feds. Federal fuzz ferreted Fox’s fingerprints and fined Fox for filching fuses, fomenting forest fires, fencing foreign Freon, fleecing folks with fraudulent faxed flax-futures, and felonious failure to file flat flax-fax tax. Fox filibustered futilely, and finally feel afoul of a frizzy female fed who fired flintlocks and fancied fox fur.

Moral: Fare fixers fairly or face fur-fetched frustration.

(From Frank Reid)
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