The Highly Dangerous Underground World of Street Knitting

Knitting woolen fabrics had been a great hobby of mine; one where I could just escape from it all. I had grown used to all the techniques and practices that the finest knitters of our time (and last) had performed. They had become second nature to me: the galloping guillotine, the bobbling bubbler, the ransacking rainmaker, and the most feared out of all knitters everywhere, the lovable lamb chop. I had been around the block in the proknitting circuit (so to speak; actually knot at all, since I had literally knitted a whole block in a marathon knitting episode... I would rather not talk about that.) and had seen it all: when knitters had got a little too cocky with their abilities, shot their mouth off to the officials, refused to wear thimbles and lost their fingers in the process. Anyway, I had achieved such huge popularity in the American circuit that it was time for an unorthodox and unique change of pace : The Highly Dangerous Underground World of Street Knitting, in the Indonesian sewer systems. I had grown through the ranks of this competition, and the danger increased with each matchup. Until one day, I had been asked to do the impossible - Thread a half spitted fig newton-flamming isoneedle through a molecularly unstable, radioactive element (Uranium), a no-no in knitting. This would be the equivalent to a special chef, trained in the art of puffer fish cutting, slicing, and serving. Its like that, but now imagine the possibility that you may rupture a wormhole through time. Basically, knitting a new robe for the grim reaper, and being the cause for billions and billions of deaths because of a knitting competition. That is what I was faced with. I had a feeling something would go wrong, but of course, I had to make the attempt. After all, where else was there to go but down? My competitor was so nervous, however, she slipped off the isoneedle and poked herself in the eye. Competition over. I was again the victor. But at what cost?