(This doesn't count, but I want to announce that what is found after these parentheses end is 1 sentence. That's right. 1.)
"Did you know that humming four random bars of music produced by either Pink Floyd, Sadam Hussein's royal band (which has in fact produced some stunning music, mostly based upon the aesthetically pleasing arrangement of firing of guns, anti-aircraft missiles, and overworked government employees -- unfortunately it's all rather short as they have a tendency to shoot tape recorders unless they're well hidden -- and that means they have to be painted the dry, dusty tan of the Iraqi desert and left in air-tight, water-tight, sand-tight and vomit-tight (Hussein in fact is actually a fan of Mexican food, and a notorious bulemic -- that's why he's so pissed off about stuff. Narcoleptic too.) containers that do still permit the entry of sound, and even then it doesn't work if some flunkie working for the tape's producer forgot to remember to forget to remember to forget to remember to PAINT THE DAMN BLOODY CONTAINER WITH THE TAPE RECORDER IN IT TAN, and neglected to paint it tan out of serious neglect (as serious as the redundancy inherent in that last inherently redundant sentence) as opposed to a prolonged and calculated ennui (usually this happens out of a deep significant distrust for French-sounding words like "ennui," "garçon" and "bulemic" [bloody provincial garçons don't get me started about them, those words are all Mongolian in origin, they just got stolen by the marshmallows, it's always the marshmallows, they even control the men dressed in them who come to take me to the big building with walls padded by them, OH CRAP THEY'RE HERE -- THEY CAN'T SEE ME LIKE THIS, WITH THE PLANT (oops, I'd better stop typing in caps)...... Hello?...... Wait a few minutes, I just have to finish an E-mail... thanks, much obliged [stupid bloody marshmallows and their defense contracts]] ) -- in fact this is why the Gulf War got started, to get some tan paint (which is actually what OPEC trades in, not oil, secret unreleased Pink Floyd songs about small hats, or porn, as some conspiracy theorists have suggested)), or "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" every day can actually make your abs firmer, your hair silveryer, your buns tighter, your bad back badder (to the bone in 47% of cases), your apples more effective in keeping the doctor away (as a sign reading "Beware of Apple" spontaneously appears on your front lawn, your apples all become the size of small Swiss banks, and equally labyrinthine, paper-smelling, Nazi-supporting, and Swiss, and they drool a liquid that reminds one of sophisticated tastes of the taste of a melting reel of film and one of less sophisticated taste of the taste of a Congressman -- the exact same congressman who sends a recent Danish immigrant to shoot the doctor; said immigrant then invariably goes on to sleep with the semi-colon about 75 characters ago, regardless of the time of day, the state of ajarity (come on! Ajarity... The state of being ajar... The level at which something is ajar... That should be a word! You don't want to make me pout) of any windows looking out on the majestic skyline of Newark, New Jersey where I'm sure this semi-colon is now smoking an appropriately-sized cigarette and sighing for a precisely calculated lack of effect, the sexual orientation of either the Danish immigrant, the semi-colon which, by a preponderance of the evidence, is hereby shown to be safely 500 or so characters away now [so you can stop holding your breath and let go of your hat -- OK, show's over, stop fondling the beret. I mean it!], or the mutants living under Newark, New Jersey [who most certainly aren't gay -- not, they add, that there's anything wrong with that]), and your defense contracts all equally sound??????????????????"
Unfortunately, everyone had mistaken MrXarvox's intentionally-misspelled 'plan' for a 'plane' and so the very integrity of the space-time continuum was warped by the existence of a plane which was not there and the unexplained movements of a lot of kobolds who, although they had a plan, were both dead and too far from the lake to implement it...
"We Are The SNOTLINGS!" said the small, goblinoid creatures teleported from the world of SOLAR. However, the Kobolds find themself with better equipment(i.e. Snotlings that could knock things out from behind), and SMACK! the Snotlings dissappear. In the spirit of the HORRIBLY bad movie Highlander ][: Planet Shiest, the Kobolds revert to simply 0/1 creatures.