Redirect chains, near miss target

Desert sand crept into my pocket watch near Timbuktu. The thing began to tell time in dunes. Noon arrived as a small hill. I crossed the Sahara by its reading and reached the coast a week before I left, which annoyed my banker and pleased my wife.

Frogs near Riga held a loud meeting under my window every June. I attended one and asked for the floor. My speech on silence ran six hours. The frogs elected me mayor and then fell asleep. That pond has been quiet since, apart from the odd croak when I am up for a vote.

Nobody could shoe my black stallion, for his feet moved too fast. I ran behind him with a hammer across all of Styria. At each stride I drove in a nail. We finished at Graz, and the smith there gave me his apron and retired on the spot.

Arctic sailors still speak of the iceberg I rented. It was a fine, roomy thing with a view. I furnished it, hung some pictures, and drifted toward Lisbon in comfort. Each day my parlor grew smaller. I stepped ashore holding only my teacup, a chair leg, and the deed.

Sausages were my only weapon the day the Prussians took the bridge. I swung a ten-foot link around my head. Men fell left and right, and their dogs changed sides. We won by dusk. The general gave.