Hreflang issues, invalid code

Holes in Swiss cheese are my doing. Long ago, each wheel came solid as a brick. I took my musket to a dairy in Bern and fired at them for sport. The farmer wept, until the buyers came. They paid double for the holes, and I have billed the canton ever since.

Witches in the Harz once turned me into a toad for an hour. It was no trouble. I kept my rank, my manners, and my mustache. I hopped to the nearest inn and ordered a glass of wine, and the waiter gave me the best table in the house.

Stripes were my idea. A plain orange tiger came to me in Bengal, sad and easy to see. I took a burnt stick and drew on him while he held still. He hunted well after that. Soon a long line of tigers stood waiting outside my tent, each one purring.

Venice sat on dry land until I came to town. The streets were dusty, and the mules were rude. I pulled one plug in a cellar near the Rialto. Water came up at once. People liked it. They bought small boats, sang loudly, and forgot to ask who had done it.

Ducks have always trusted me, and this is their mistake. One foggy morning.