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Around the time of my last phwiiss-up in Forest Fields, me and the renowned guitar player Tallbob Weedley had just sat and watched a televisual feast from the moment of the beginning of its commencement up to the point of its closing terminatory ending on the subject of mammalian genetics.

Some geezer who works at the same zoo where Jimi Hendrix was buried was saying for us to look at the moggy in front of him. It was likely to be the largest cat we would ever see. As it was sprawled out in the sun, it was difficult to appreciate the thing's size, until it stood up head even to the bloke, who was himself a good six foot fourer. Then the camera panned back to reveal its Bengal tiger mum+ Serengetti lion dad (both fully grown) who looked like spaniels next to it. The thing was bigger than a bull!

Apparently, the genetic instruction for growth cut-off is only carried in the females of lions, and the males of tigers; consequently, if a male lion is mated with a female tiger, there is no biological instruction to cease its growth. Okay, that's where the serious bit ends.

So, then, armed with this bulletin and having tucked two gallons of Stella behind our eyeballs, we then could hardly wait to step out and fall into the pangalatia of esoterism - the Elm Tree on Beech Avenue and fully equip its regime and faction with the ground-breaking facts of all this.

However, having painstaking coaxed the Lady of the joint's disrelishful mistrust and tying-off attention for yet another evening, and for 'the last time ever, if you're tossing me off again', I wasted short time in sending her packing, having described a 'new breed of cat - cross between a lion and a Siberian tiger wot goes nutty if you make a noise around it! Wossa name Bob? Oh! S'arright! I've got it! A librarian!'

The Actual Yapfixman

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