'Conga-Rats,' he thinks to himself. What in the world is that? Well… perhaps Death would know and if not him then he would ask young Susan. She was knowledgeable and quite generous toward rats. This is not something he could say about most folk.
Indeed most humans set about devising new, and sometimes painful, ways for rats to die. It really kept him busy. There were days in which he would quite like a vacation from his job.
"Squeak, Squeak squea-squeak?" Which roughly translated means; "Death, what is a conga-rat?"
Death looked down at his fellow… death-mate and explained, "It is a play on words. A person might say Conga-rats instead of the customary Congratulations. I believe they call it a pun. I call it bad taste myself. Was that all?"
"Squeak. Squea-squeak."
"You are most welcome. Now I must be off. There is an outbreak of plague near Muntab that is causing people to die at a rather alarming rate. I suspect you will be rather busy there as well here soon. They are, of course, blaming your kind; rather than their own unhygienic ways. Would it kill them to bathe or boil some water once in awhile?"
'So, it was only a pun… but what was the Conga?' He had of course forgotten to ask about that. Still, he could ask later. There was work to be done and if he was lucky, he would run into Susan and she might shed light on the mystery of the Conga.
~Fin~
So, When I first did this I went well over the word count (by a thousand plus words.)
I figured I should not overachieve quite that much. So I wrote (and posted) a wee Discworld Drabble as well:
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