Mr. Pita Pata, Esq. was sitting at his desk writing a hate letter to Mother Theresa when he saw something that just wasn't right! He ran to his window and peered through the blinds. Yes! It was so! His neighbor's lawn was greener than his. Something had to be done, but first he had to verify his information to see if it really was so. He unlocked the 62 locks on the front door, stepped outside, and relocked every single one of them. No one must steal my bungee cord collection, he reasoned as he walked down the steps and headed for the backyard. The front lawn was greener, therefore it was reasonable to assume that the backyard was too. He crouched down, grabbed a handful of his own grass, and proceeded to climb the twelve foot fence he had erected when he bought the house.

His neighbors, the Sayns, were entertaining guests who had just arrived from Iowa. When they noticed their guests staring at the man climbing the fence, they told them it was Pita. They sat in the kitchen, which faced the backyard, and watched the demented man.

Meanwhile, Mr. Pita Pata, Esq. was on the lawn. The occupants of the house watched him curiously as he grabbed a handful of their grass.

"THE GRASS IS GREENER ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE!!" he screamed triumphantly. All of his life, he had been trying to become famous. Having the world's largest ball of lint didn't even merit him a newspaper article. He held his two samples aloft with exuberant glee. Suddenly a gust of wind came and blew them away.

"No mind!!" he howled, "I'll just get some more. Ah hah hah hah!" He now considered himself a leading philosopher. He had proved an old adage. He began to climb the fence back to his own yard so he could collect more grass. When he reached the top, he was dismayed to find that the grass wasn't as green on the other side of the fence. Depressed, he went home to sulk in his Triscuit Box Collection room. Even this exciting and interesting hobby failed to lift the gloomy veil from around his head. It was the worst day of his entire life.

Eventually, Pita went even further insane and he now resides in the Happy Home For Disillusioned People in Dissention, Maine. He spends his free time as a banana rights activist. Thus endeth the story of Pita Pata, Esq. n