I was indulging in my hobby of travelling the country painting eggs and selling them at church fayres, when I took a wrong turning and ended up in the Sahara desert. In the search for water and (ideally) a cheese sandwich I came across a nomad tribe. In exchange for 3 pounds of freeze-dried shrimp, the secret of Gunpowder and a signed picture of Barry Mannilow they gave me a Ford Cortina. I admit I was a bit disappointed because they didn't have any water. After a few miles I came across another tribe, where I exchanged the vehicle for a more desert-worthy dune buggy and a (fake) leopardskin pouch of water. However, by now I was dehydrated to the point of deliriousness, and the registration plate on the dune buggy appeared to say "Rinkworks". I made a mental note of it and passed out. I was quite surprised to awake in a hospital in Bristol, as I was hoping to awake somewhere closer to home. On my return I ordered my infinite monkeys (who work in a wheeliebin of infinite volume) to work out the significance of Rinkworks. They instead wrote a manuscript and sold it to [a well known publishing company, naming rights refused] under the title [naming rights also refused]. It went on to become a bestseller. My fame and fortune soon dwindled as the popular press cottoned on to my plagiarism of Shakespeare, and I decided to get back to the computer. When I arrived, I tried registering rinkworks.com but found it was already taken. I also finally got that cheese sandwich.

Matt"why be original now when you were original before?"hew