Clearly, the residents of Hat Shore needed something to do to keep from getting restless, much like a giant hamster ball. But once the idea of shoving everybody into a giant hamster ball had been nixed, the next best thing had been arranged: a boot camp! It would get everybody out into the open air, give everyone a chance to burn off energy, and
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"Bravo to me!" he said. "I completed a station my first try!"
Hey, it's an achievement for him.
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"This. Is. Stupid."
Nevertheless, he feared the Hat's wrath, so he did it. Half assed, but it got done.
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Although standing on their heads proved to be far easier than the Shoggies had initially realized, sack racing racing proved to be far harder than it looked. To begin with, Shoggies 3 and 21.5 ate their sacks upon obtaining them, and Shoggy 9.5 ate its sack while they were trying to figure out what to do with the rest of the sacks. Once they did figure out what they were supposed to do, the Shoggies squelched into the remaining sacks, with the Shoggies who'd eaten theirs sharing with others.
It was Shoggy 11 who first announced, "Oh no! We can't jump in the sacks! We don't have feet!" "Soooo not cool!" came the Shoggy chorus this time. "No, we can jump! We just need to bounce, like this!" Shoggy 15 said, giving bouncing its best attempt- as the Shoggy was stuck in a sack, amorphous bouncing failed to get anywhere. Its sack, shared with Shoggy 3, simply bounced around a little and didn't go anywhere. "You can't do its Shoggy because you needs feet for jumping," insisted its comrade in sack sharing. " ( ... )
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He couldn't seem to focus and the sack kept getting caught in his feet as he made his way slowly to the end of the race and he hoped a better shot on the next station.
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"Ha, take that, limbo time. Let's see how low you suckers can go."
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Still, he climbed in, rolled the sack up so that he wasn't tripping over it as much as he could have been, and gave an experimental hop. It kind of worked, in that he didn't fall flat on his face. Another couple of hops and he thought he might be getting the hang of it.
Until he got tangled up and flopped into a mud puddle. He came up screeching.
"You know what? This sucks." He sulked for a few minutes, and then inspiration struck. He was a cat. He had claws! The sack was fabric, and it didn't stand a chance. He sliced himself some leg holes with a little bit of work, stuck his back feet out, and waddled the rest of the way.
"And that's how you do it," he said to nobody in particular, climbing out of the muddy and shredded sack.
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The sacks reminded him too much of Sack Joe. He stood morosely contemplating the sack for far too long at the starting line. Only when he noticed once more the looming Andrew Jackson head did Beowulf finally start racing.
He was surprisingly coordinated once he did start moving, which explained how he was still able to beat a couple of participants despite the headstart they'd gotten. All the same, he really couldn't pull off anything like a victory after that delay. To top it all off, a few feet away from the finish line he got the idea that Sack Joe had to be somewhere around (sacks probably summoned their namesake, Beowulf reasoned), and he stopped racing entirely, turned around to face the starting line, and started bellowing:
"SACK JOE! SHOW THYSELF, I PRAY!"
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