*shrug*

Sometimes they escape early.

On the great word-farms of Savolax, words are raised to a life in virtual slavery. From the moment they are old enough to walk, they are taken for a daily sprint to keep them fresh and elastic. Then, on a spring night, they take the words down to the slaughter-house, and one by one... *snickt* The screaming is horrible.

Tell me FinnLassie, have the words stopped screaming?