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For those without comedic tastes, the so-called experts at Wikipedia think they have an article about Alfred, or simply go here.

Alfred is very unhappy about being interrupted.

Alfred is no longer allowed to do that in the U.S. Army.

Alfred will end up in a coal mine for eternity.

I stepped out my front door and glanced right, glanced left, then thought about how puzzling the word "glanced" was when "looked" would suffice. Just then, I saw a woman holding a tax booklet, and vomited.

Alfred is something that is kinda weird.

Alfred is de zoon van noortje.

Alfred is the 213.

As I mopped up the vomit with a guinea pig, I noticed a very odd transition at my elbow...I wasn't quite sure what it was, nor was I sure where the loud screaming was coming from. Things didn't seem quite normal. I felt agitated. And then a small child climbed out of the sewer.

Alfred is NMC's outstanding alumnus for 2002.

Alfred is a Comanche from the dusty plains of south western Oklahoma.

Alfred is retarded.

The child reached into his pocket and pulled out a lemonade stand with "MUD" written on it. Naturally, I was curious, but my headache seemed to prevent me from moving.

Alfred is wrong.

Alfred is arguably associated with Andy Partridge (oddly enough).

Alfred is an email worm.

Suddenly, I jumped out into the air, and I seemed to fly over to the child. This confused me, but there was no time to consider the matter, for the child was handing me a glass filled to the brim. "Take it!" yelled the boy, "It's only five cents!" I didn't want it, but I couldn't seem to speak. Yet he answered me as if he could read my thoughts. "You DO want it!" he screamed. He screamed so loud I heard him.

Alfred is determined to bolster the economy.

Alfred is living based on a photocopied shopping list.

Alfred risen resurrection Sunday March 31st.

Yet I still hesitated. Why should I buy your mud? I asked. "It is glorious mud," he said, "I need it. I squeezed it." I don't have any money, I thought. He said, "That doesn't matter, I accept vomit." What luck!

Alfred is slowing down.

Alfred is not afraid to fly.

Alfred is just a rat.

I took the cup of mud and cradled it in my hand as the woman holding the tax booklet used it to club the child as she walked by. The clubbing seemed to confirm something. I drank the mud. The taste was impossible to describe. I asked the child, "What is in this mud?

The child said, "Alfred."

Alfred is in the mud.

Alfred is in the mud.

Alfred is in the mud.

Alfred is in the mud.

I understood, but it was too late.