a story I put together thanks to an insurance claim from someone called "Hoogdenboom"

Hoogenboom Wandershnat sat wistfully at the front of his blue windmill. Methodical and moist as he always found himself on a Wednesday, he cleaned his gun. Clouds in the sky had taken the shape of Palm Trees who had turned to violent communism. He contemplated his life and wondered merrily upon the simple thought of suicide. His life had been full and interesting. He had married the girl of his dreams, Esmeralda Kakadon Rambledown. He had sired many a bouncy bundle of babyhood, and he’d watched these squishy flesh wanderers consume the food he put on the table, rip the clothes he placed upon their back (two backs in the case of Hickmanstool, the 3rd child, and the disturbing result of Esmeralda’s duck sucking phase whilst pregnant), and destroy any toy his nimble hands had made them. Yet still he loved them. They had now grown old and found personal conquests. Jaggledoone had found a wife. Manatash looked after llamas. Rapplebottom-Dodokins was now mayor of a nearby town (though currently involved in a terrible scandal in relation to his extreme admiration for yogurt). Even Huickmanstool was famous in local circus routes. His life was truly a success. And he wondered what else there was to experience. Maybe it would be best to finish the game now. On his terms. In his favourite seat. With a lovely meal in his belly. With his wife inside by deaf as a table and forgetful as the letter G. This would be a good way to go. But then he saw in the distance, Yoyomontague, his youngest, running full pelt up the road. Pursed to his lips was the trumpet of impending attack. The Moose were back