Thing a Week 11: In which the humble author continues his war against spelling, proof writing, punctuaition and the english in general

I have written something on time! And it has longer run on sentences than possibly any of my creations before it, a feat which i had previously thought to be impossible.

In a place that existed in a time which statistics indicate was probably either long before or quite a while after the one we are currently living in, there lived a country of simple people who led a rather primitive lifestyle but nevertheless had a remarkably similar culture to our own (which certainly didn't occur because the author was a creative hack unwilling to take the time build a realistic culture for its story), except it had a lot more peasants, vassals, and penniless woodcutters, and a slightly less complicated bureaucratic process.
This fascinating and well thought out society was also notable for having an incredibly complicated navigational system, composed of not less 468 (and counting!) directions. The most notable of these were Hink, Thibbit, Ley, Snook, and of course WoopWoop, which is defined not as a direction per se, but rather "a kind of pirouetting prance not quite directly to the left, which only exists on alternate seasonal holidays". Also of interest are Ecumenicus and Stevedorean, which can only be used by royalty on agony of pain.
ANYWAY, the capital of the kingdom (The society was monarchy based, did I remember to tell you that?) had quite a few streets, naturally enough, and if you were follow the main one until you reached Quezotic St. (named after the direction Quezoticzix, which is 16 degrees Thibbit of magnetic Snook and reputed to remind people of incarnadine, which is a color, not a direction, but will probably be one as soon as the author runs out of more creative names), and then followed it to Relatively Infrequent Murder Alley, and THEN took that until you reached that shop with the distinctive odor, and then crossed the street to avoid said odor and gone another three houses, you would find a small greasy spoon run by a xenophobic midget who just so happens to make the best Lamb-and-Gidget slurry it has been this authors privilege to partake of.
This isn't actually relevant to the story at hand, but the author is rather peckish and could do with a spot of lamb-and-Gidget right now.