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A young boy with dark hair stood balanced upon a rooftop, laughing mockingly. "At last," he cried, "I have Urgleburrgleburh, the legendary treasure of the Ancients, which has the amazing power to keep a person awake — WITHOUT COFFEE!"

No one believed him. People just thought he was one more boy driven to climb to the rooftops and shout the imagined good news.

"And anyway, who wants to do without coffee?" yelled the people in the top floor apartments who could hear his glee.

"But the treasure of Urgle-burrgle burg also conveys upon me the power of — clear and precise speaking. The ability to parse sentences and trim excess words in a single bound. Super copy editor!"

And with that, the boy leaped into the bookstore, red pens brandished in both hands.

Writers around the world lifted their heads like dogs catching the scent of ham. They sensed a disturbance in the aether, a shift in the world itself.

Super Copy Editor was ripping through book after book — romance, mystery, historical, western — shredding the words with his dual pens.

As the pens sliced and diced the published works, the magic of the Urgle Burgle Burgh summoned each writer to the bookstore.

It didn't care if they were clothed or naked, awake or asleep, dead or alive. Writers of all eras & genres popped into the bookstore with a soft plopping noise.

The murmurs of confusion turned to dread as the writers of the world saw the approach of Super Copy Editor, heralded by flying papers and the spatters of red ink flying from behind his ears.

"Cease and desist!" He shouted, brandishing a Mac Book. "This madness cannot be allowed to continue!"

But it was too late. With so many writers gathered together, madness was inevitable. They soon fell to bickering among themselves, flinging red pens and stray clauses at each other with wild abandon.

They soon organized into camps: Those who were Pro-Urgleburrgleburh, and those who were Anti-Urgleburrgleburh. Splinter groups formed, such as those who believed the treasure should be spelled "Urgle Burgle Burg." Alliances were formed and broken. Words were written and erased. Coffee was drunk and drank. There was Sturm and Drang, Topsy and Turvy, Catty and Wompus. The people in the top floor apartments put in earplugs or turned up their radios.

An unspeakably evil person rubbed his hands together with an evil cackle.

"My evil plan is working!" he cried.

"Yes Master," Super Copy Editor said in a monotone, eyes blank, drooling a little.

"It's working quite well, actually."

"Yes, Master."

"I'm going to tell you about it in great detail."

"Oh no! Not that!"

"You're right, that would be boring. Well, let's just leave it at a MUAHAHA!" And he rubbed his hands together again. "The Urgle Burgle Burgh is working perfectly!"

"How is that, Master?"

"The world thrives on the written word. The written word is created by writers who can imagine the world different than it currently is. Their imagination leads to inspiring others, and they go on to change the world.

"With the writers fighting each other, they aren't writing and the world needs to be led forward.

"That person will be me!" His laughter rang out once more.

"But master, what about the severed heads?"

And I knew then we had him. Back, around and around, the same topics appeared, dropped, reappeared in a different form. A tale told by a madman, and all that.

Trapped in a circle, closing in on itself and the Urgle-burgle burg was stuck in a mad world of his own design.

The real world was safe once again.

Except those who gazed upon it, and joined in its madness.

And suddenly, the kid showed up again, and broke Urrgleburrgleburrh upon the evil dude's head. He died. Then the robot exploded and the [made?] world went boom.