Bertie the beetle was a happy fellow, contentedly gnawing away, for hours on end, on plants, flowers and all kinds of vegetables, just about anything he came across that was edible, he was in world of his own. When I call him Bertie, it is perhaps doing him an injustice, for, in truth, he was a king, Bertie, the king of the black beetles, was the master of all he surveyed, and he ruled it with an iron fist.
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The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 