Today will be remembered for the abundance of genuine human hair wigs everyone started uncontrollably vomiting up during church services. The involuntary retching began around 8:45am and continued until well after 5pm. The epidemic spared only the town’s holiest: our street mimes and autistics. All the rest of us, meanwhile, were gagging up thick, purple, blonde and silver champagne lady wigs and ugly, tiger-cut man toupees until our throats dried out. Some of the older residents blacked out early on and had to have their feet elevated to prevent choking deaths. DPW services are still raking them into big piles and have been forced, against their better judgement, to ignite the incinerator on the Sabbath. Forcibly puking up human hair for hours on end can only be seen as divine...

Bring me that jar of cocktail onions. The little ones, yes. I’m going to name them. And give them futures.

“Chris, you won’t believe it. You can’t believe it.” “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t been there.” Believe what? “What happened with Mary, I – what’s going on here? I can’t believe it.” “It’s unreal.” … “What we did, it was all discussed ahead of time. We had a plan – we had a system. And you know that’s fine. Mary’s a nice person, we’ve always gotten along. But, hey listen, this can’t go on.” “It was very brazen.” “Mary – we invited her over to hear about her stumps and, she, right in the middle of it, why — she touched our fruit. Touched our fruit. All of it.” “Touched it with her hands.”...

I've never had a problem sitting completely motionless for hours at a time. I sit, mouth closed, in total silence waiting patiently for instructions, all the while careful never to let my attention drift towards ugly or seditious thoughts. Poised and attentive but never a distraction or burden. I'd be just as glad facing the wall or covered with a sack, whatever you think is best.
You're in charge for a reason. What that might be is certainly no concern of mine. If need be I can busy myself crossing and uncrossing my legs or shift my gaze to the ceiling.
Just make sure I get my sugars…and we all stay the good son.

You’re right to blame Americans. Blame them first. Above all others. They wanted shirtless roller coaster photography. They support State execution of cartoons. Your average American citizen feels no shame in demonstrating his ability to crush mice with his knees. Nor does he feel any embarrassment over the quality of his nation’s back road buffets. You know – the kind with thick rice.
Say it with me now, out loud, in front of God and the World:
“I blame Americans for the decline of the ship-in-a-bottle industry.”
Oh, it’s like a big drink of ice water after a long afternoon working in the garage.

There is no turning back. There is the big bird with the egg, and it is green. No more. This is where you put the quarter. Hear the clink, OK. Top business. OK. This man here, he goes, Ay-yi-yi-yi-yiiiiii. All night with the Jay Bird, oh God. Now, your shoe- too big. This bird, he no care. It is…….probably fifteen. But he say, you can not go here, this is for the men! They are strong, big dreams. Never enough. Next year, only two weddings. No more. This, this mess, at end what is for me? This ghost? He gone. No more purple.
No.