While The Tosspot is being developed, indulge yourself in this delightful tale about the origins of our website. During your jogging of the mind, remember that here at The Tosspot, we are not English majors. In fact, many of us don't even have our GED's...yet.

With that said, what you are about to read is based on fact. However, out of consideration for the people involved, all names have been changed to mask their identity and preserve any integrity they may still have.

***

NORMAN, a meaty young man in his twenties harboring a Buckley beard and disheveled brunette locks, awakened from his slumber. As Norm’s eyeballs gained clarity, he recognized three peculiar silhouettes hovering overhead. Frozen, Norm studied the beings as they descended to the floor.

The first appeared to be a fluffy sheep. Without any blemishes, the sheep exhibited a flawless coat of wool to that of a cloud in the blue afternoon sky.
The second, a stout man with a tobacco pipe curled from his lips, was no taller than a dining room table and was supported by a splintered, wooden peg leg.
The third? Well, it appeared to be a donut hole blanketed in powder sugar.

In a delightful tone, the fluffy sheep greeted Norman. “Good morning.”

Norman inched himself backwards only to be impeded by his bedroom wall. Fretful, he dragged a pillow over his lap.

“Don’t be startled, Norm.” Said the sheep. “We are the creatures of economic struggle. We are here to grant you three wishes that will release you from your financial shackles restraining you during these tough times. My name is Charlie Sheep. I represent the future economy, fruitful and promising, the economies we all dream of today. With me is Randel.”

Randel extruded a thick Irish accent. “Aye, top of the morning to ya, Laddy. Ugly and disfigured is I, embodying the image of our present economy.”

Norm was astounded. “Wait- What? You can speak?” He questioned.

“Well, surely if a sheep named Charlie can enlighten us with his words I can possess the gift of gab.” Responded Randel.

With a voice of uncertainty, Norm replied, “I just thought maybe…because of your leg…”

“This ole piece of lumber here, Lad. Nah. We can all speak. Even Stan Lee.”

Randel peaked over his left shoulder only to encounter crumbs of powder where Stan Lee was stationed.

Randel’s head violently turned towards Norman who, with a ring of white powder encircling his stuffed mouth, replied, “Who’s Stan Lee?” Randel’s eyes lit up with rage. Norm swallowed releasing an oversized gulp. “So, are you a leprechaun?” questioned Norm.

“You ungrateful bastard! You engulfed me we favorite Laddy!” Randel screamed with rage.

“Delicious.” Norman antagonistically replied.

Randel drew an 8-inch blade from his back as he bull rushed Norman.

BOOM! Randel’s body sailed nine feet backwards towards oblivion. Thunder echoed in the room from the explosion.

Twitching and gushing blood, Randel's back revealed an exit wound the size of a watermelon, or maybe it seemed that big because Randel was a midget.

Charlie Sheep’s eyes followed a trail of haze seeping from underneath Norman’s pillow. A 12 gauge over-under peaked out staring Charlie directly in the face.

“Norman, what are you doing? We’re only trying to help.” Charlie Sheep stated with a quiver in his voice.

“A midget, with one leg and a fugly mug, floats in here, trespassing and invading my space, telling me he’s not funny green guy looking for his pot of gold and you expect me to believe that you’re looking out for my greater good? I think not, amigo.”

“Don’t kill me, Norman.” Charlie Sheep begged.

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you. I’ve got other plans for you.” Norm thrusted the butt of his gun into Charlie Sheep’s skull immediately knocking him unconscious. Charlie Sheep’s skull bled profusely as Norm pulled a pair of chrome handcuffs from underneath his bed. Norm slipped Charlie Sheeps hooves through the hardened steel and shackled him to the bedpost.

***

Since this story occurred, Norm has cloned the enchanted sheep allowing him to have an entire flock of sheep possessing mystical powers. They are routinely sheered for their magical wool that is turned into magical t-shirts sold at TheTosspot.com. However, before they can be distributed to our members, we must put them into our legendary cauldron and bake the wool into 100% rich cotton.

PLEASE NOTE:
Here at The Tosspot, we apologize if you indulged yourself into this tale and want to state that the incidences in this story are in fact, not fact. Instead, The Tosspot was created by a group of maniacal Korrigans. True to their nature, they are the same group of shifty beings that helped Al Gore create the Internet and market global warming. Wow. Thanks little creepy guys.