Once upon a time there was a man named Fibbage, and he had a spectacular house. Nobody else thought it was spectacular, but to him there was no finer place a human could live. He had it all! Rooms, walls, spiders, windows and a roof. But most importantly, he had a large hardwood deck stretching out onto his lawn. His backyard wasn’t exactly big, and the deck took up almost the whole thing. But that didn’t matter to Fibbage, no sirree. He was proud of his deck, and could proudly say that he had a bigger deck than all his neighbors.

But living right next to him was a woman named Bellafontaine. Now Bellafontaine lived in a place she considered to be an absolute dump. It had a measly 4 floors, with naught but 3 bathrooms on each. Her swimming pool was BARELY long enough to do a decent, full-length, professional lap, and her kitchen kept asking her irritating questions like “what do you want to eat for dinner?” But the thing that got under Fibbage’s skin the most about her place, was her tiny little deck.

Bellafontaine’s house was, as you can imagine, extravagant. However, barely protruding out of the back of her house, onto her vast backyard lawn, was what Fibbage would hardly tolerate calling a deck. It was made of the same hardwood that Mr. Fibbage’s was made of, only this one only had space for two chairs and a coffee table. Mr. Fibbage would stay up at night talking to his spiders and trying to rationalize why on earth someone could be satisfied with such a measly and disgusting little deck. I mean, how could a deck like that please anyone? That must’ve been the silliest looking deck the man had ever seen.

One night he decided that he’d put up with Bellafontaine’s sneaky shenanigans for long enough. He went to his living room shed and picked out his old rusty axe and barged outside. He made his way over the fence and straight toward that pathetic little abomination she dared to call a deck. How DARE she?!

But as he raised his axe, he heard a voice behind him.

“If you want him, you’ll have to take me too,” said the swimming pool.

“Mind your own business,” snapped Fibbage to the swimming pool. “This is between me and this tiny little deck!”

“Very well, then,” said the swimming pool.

Water rushed out, across the yard, past the fence and poured all over Fibbage’s majestic hardwood deck. Fibbage’s eyes widened.

“Nooooo!” he cried.

But it was too late. He’d forgotten to put a layer of water resistant finish on it, and his dear deck had bulged and soaked up all the water. It was as good as dead.

Mister Fibbage learned a valuable lesson that day. Or something.