Real World Comedy

Actress Carol Burnett is slated to make a guest appearance on NBC’s “Desperate Housewives” this coming April. The comedian will be playing the stepmother to character Bree Van De Camp and was thrilled to obtain such an icy role.  

Best known for her slapstick comedy style and hosting the famous “Carol Burnett Show,” she said that she was looking forward to appearing on the dark comedy. She has noted in the past that she is a fan of the satirical style that series creator, Marc Cherry has so brilliantly injected into the show. Marc Cherry in return is a life long fan of Ms. Burnett and has said in the past that she is the person he would most like to have guest on the show.

“It will be fun.  I think it’s just so campy.” Burnett told the Associated Press at a recent interview.  

Over the next few weeks viewers will learn that Burnett’s character, Eleanor Mason entered Bree’s life after her mother died.  Eleanor will be coming to visit Wisteria Lane due to some Van De Camp family secrets that are about to be revealed.

There is no word at this time as to how many episodes the comedian will appear in.

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If you’ve ever found yourself inching up on the car in front of you to read their bumper stickers, you’re not alone. Bumper stickers are a means of proclaiming your views on life, politics, sports, your religious affiliation, and virtually any other arena. Whether you want the world to know you support your local school, your hometown sports team, or a certain politician, bumperstickers can be the means to do so.

Bumper stickers can be funny, crazy, thought provoking, silly, intelligent, or rather stupid. They can bring a smile to the reader’s face or make the person in the car behind you angry. By wearing your thoughts on your bumper, you can proclaim your personality or your priorities to the world. There’s no doubt that, based upon the bumperstickers adorning a vehicle, others make assumptions about the car’s driver.

Some of the most amusing bumper stickers I’ve encountered are:

Social Security Has Me Feeling Unsocial and Insecure

My Best Friend Says I’m Insane, But Who Listens to Dogs Anyway?

If Opportunity Knocked on My Door, I Must Have Been in the Shower

Work is a Four-Letter Word

Rash Decisions Make Me Itch

Yes, This is My Van. No, I Won’t Help You Move

A Waist is a Terrible Thing to Mind

I’ve Forgotten More Than I’ve Ever Learned

Bumper stickers can also make great marketing tools, whether for a cause or an organization. Custom-made bumper stickers are relatively inexpensive, yet can help spread the message you’re trying to convey. If you have a message to promote, you can order custom-made bumper stickers and pass them out at your next meeting or event.

Bumper stickers can also help to raise money. Having a variety of bumper stickers, along with pins and T-shirts, which are funny or thought provoking can do double duty for merchandising and marketing. The only caveats are that they should be in good taste (in the eyes of your prospective customers), that they are clever, and that they relate to the mission of the group or organization.

Overall, bumper stickers can be a delightful form of self-expression and serve to entertain other drivers while you’re on the road. The entertainment value of bumper stickers can go one step further, especially if you have one or more children in the car on a long day of errands. You can encourage the kids to play the “Alphabet Game” using bumper stickers. The rules are that, starting with the letter “A,” they must find each letter of the alphabet on a bumper sticker. This game can keep them engaged for quite awhile, particularly when they get stuck on the letters “Q” and “Z”!

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More then ever before, I have seen the rise in restaurants providing table side entertainment. While you wait to be seated, or for your meal to come, you can be entertained by a skilled magician or a fancy balloon animal. 

This is wonderful. It provides the restaurant with a bit more time to get everything ready, it helps pass the time for the customers and the performers usually gets a nice tip.

As you have probably guessed by now, I am a performer. I twist balloon animals and cartoon parodies. They are quite wonderful. But I can’t help but wonder why I am tipped the same for a one balloon dog as I am for a 12 balloon monster truck that takes considerable amount of time. I understand that there are some who are only skilled enough to make a balloon dog. I think that there should be a difference in what he is tipped and what I am tipped. 

What determines what someone is tipped? Is it the amount of skill they have at their craft? Is it how fervently they worked to please you? Or is it simply the lowest amount that you think you can get away with?

Well for those whose policy is the latter, I have bad news for you. Poor tipping leads to Balloon Flatulence.

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We all know someone who has bad breath.  Still, you may not be current on all the slang associated with this unfortunate condition.  Not to worry, my friend.  I am here to provide you with more than a few descriptive phrases to use when referring to recurring bad breath, also known as halitosis.  This is not meant to be amusing, but rather meant to provide a public service to those who want to classify people around them who have bad breath without appearing to be out of the loop.  The last thing I want you to do is blurt out that someone simply has “bad breath” as that can be an unforgiveable social faux pas in the wrong crowd.  To be safe, please refer to this list describing the malady in more current terms.

When someone exhibits bad breath, it is now said that they are:

1. farting topside
2. leaking some limburger
3. melting the moustache
4. burning tires on their tongue
5. polluting the local environment
6. exploring the limits of personal space with every exhalation

Just think of how much more poignant these remarks will be than the old standard of, “so and so has bad breath”.  Now you too can appear “bad breath” savvy when reporting the condition.  No need to thank me for this, helping others is what I do.  I don’t recommend that you make these comment to the offending person, as they might give the impression of a lack of tact on your part.  Besides, telling someone they have bad breath isn’t nearly as fun as telling someone else about them.  Of course, no one would do this for the simple joy of gossiping about another’s misfortune.  Like me, I’m certain you would merely be passing along vital information in the hope that it would work its way around to the intended recipient.  This way, you have absolved yourself of the serious responsibility of telling someone their breath offends and placed that burden not so squarely on the shoulders of a mutual acquaintance.  Devilishly brilliant, in my opinion.

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Somewhere on the Edge of Lake Trasimeno, Summer 2002

Elliot ran along the muddy shoreline with his lanky body bouncing up and down as he pulled his feet from the mud. It was his first time in Italy and his excitement had gotten the best of him. The suction on his feet slowed him down, but he could still outrun Pam, who held his clothes up as she chased after him. He ran along the thin mud flat bordering a sparse grove of weeds that shot ten feet up from the water’s edge. The stink of nitrogen seeped from the mud and hung in the air. This was no place to sunbathe.

“Elliot, please stop,” Pam yelled. “Put your clothes on.” 

Exasperation gripped her face as her chest heaved. She could only take two or three steps before stopping to catch her breath. Her round figure sank too deeply into the mud to get anywhere near him.

Elliot ignored her. His bony arms flailed about like a toddler’s as he ran.

Thirty college students stood back and watched their colleague run naked through the mud while his teacher plodded after him. They were supposed to get a little history of the largest lake in Umbria, but this was the highlight of their field trip.

Pam’s frustration grew worse because Ivy, the other professor there, had abandoned the group with another student just minutes before. She was as flighty in temperament as some of her dance students. They went up toward the road and crossed out of sight. A few students giggled about it because a rumor had spread that they went to smoke pot.

I watched from the far corner of the beach. An old woman who lived in one of the houses on the street walked down the dirt path behind me.

“Why is he nude?” she asked in Italian.

I laughed. She was near seventy and thin, but she looked like a weathered peasant who had spent a life working in the fields.

“He’s crazy.”

“Where is he from?”

“The United States,” I said.

“Hmm,” she said, staring at the naked man frolicking in the mud. “Maybe he should be brought to a hospital.”

I laughed again.

Elliot then turned around and started running toward Pam. He had moved onto firmer ground so he picked up speed. His parts flapped about like a rag in the wind as he barreled toward her. A collective oooh came from the students. Pam scrambled out of the way and let him pass without a challenge, leaving his clothes behind. She didn’t get hazard pay.

Elliot whizzed passed her and came toward me and the old woman, his face beaming with delight. He skidded to a stop within 10 feet of us and turned back toward his colleagues with his arms raised victoriously above his head. “Yeah!” he screamed. He took in a few deep breaths and then ran back toward Pam, this time veering back into the mud.

After 4 or 5 steps, Elliot’s right foot scraped the thick muck and he fell face forward, slapping the wet surface with full-body contact. Another oooh came from the crowd, this one deeper in tone. He lay outstretched and motionless for a few seconds, as if expecting to sink. When he tried to get up, his arms sunk to his elbows and his knees submerged. He looked like a trapped animal. He dug his feet in to gain his balance and pushed his rear-end up first. He was bent so far over that his hair lay in the mud and his hind quarters and all of its component parts were in full view for me and the old woman to see.

“Oh Dio!” she said and covered her mouth.

It was a snapshot in horror. The old woman might have seen American tourism written all over that image. I laughed like hell.

Elliot then pulled his arms out of the mud and inched his way back to firmer ground where he moped back toward Pam and his stunned classmates, his limbs coated in black tar, gray water streaming down his back from his stringy hair and everyone wondering what had possessed him to take off his clothes and make a total mess of himself in front of a group of people.

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BROOKLYN, NY – It was discovered, last Monday, that a tree has grown in Brooklyn, NY. Amazed residents stared dumbfounded at the three-year-old sapling. Two girls discovered the North American Honey Birch (Honeyus Bircheus) on the way to school.

“At first I thought, like, it was just a tall weed,” Melissa Hanes, 15, said, “then I, like, looked closer and I realized it looked kinda, like, similar to a tree.” She explained they had just learnt about trees in social studies class. They were learning about different aspects of other cultures.

Her classmate, and fellow discoverer, Jessica Pone, 15, observed, “When Mrs.Salisky spoke about these really tall plants nobody believed her. We all thought it was a joke, like if she had said that, like, all GAP stores were closing down. It was just that unbelievable!”

They called the New York City Park’s Department. The whole department came down to marvel at the site.

“Sure we’ve seen trees in Queens and Staten Island, but in Brooklyn?” exclaimed Richard Seer, deputy commissioner of the Park’s Department. “We are petitioning that the site be declared a historical landmark.” Although this is generally given to historically significant sites, he believes that City Hall will overlook that requirement for this special discovery.

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Way back in time, when men used to roam the earth with club in hand, women prayed that the man who knocked her out cold was “the one” – the caveman of her dreams.

Sadly though, many a headache and broken dream was the only result, as the majority of men in the day were not at all that good of a catch by today’s standards. It seemed they only concerned themselves with fending off saber-toothed tigers and really never had much time to hone their romantic skills. They were just the okay kind of a man according to modern ways, and in fact, all of them were like this. The good men – the romantic cavemen – were usually eaten by predators, and to this day, when a fossil is found of such a man, usually a prehistoric flower can also be found right next to him. Scientists figure stargazing at the moment of impact from the fangs of a large animal was the most common way of death for these sensitive characters.

In all the commotion of daily life three thousand years ago, protecting the home front from woolly mammoths and maintaining the sharpness of spears and such took up a lot of time, but supposedly good cavemen somehow managed to muster up enough romantic inclination and ten minutes of time to produce cave babies with their newly captured brides.

Once these cave babies were done crawling around in the dirt of the lair, it was the assumed duty of their cave moms to grow these missing links into strong law-abiding citizens. However, due to the shortages in manpower, and the ever-increasing size of predators grown fat from sensitive brethren lost; the young male cave teenagers had to go out and help the cave dads fight to protect the cave kingdom. Once again, missing out on another poetry lesson carved on the wall by mom.

It seems that in prehistoric days, romantic and sensitive natures were actually “not” what qualified a “good man”, but rather the qualities of strength to provide family safety and goods for survival were the prerequisites. If this were true, then in fact good men were all over the place, because human beings still live today long after extremely large carnivores.

Today however, the needs are different, and therefore the standards of what makes up a good man have changed. Survival is now a vote away, and instead of keeping an eye out for predators, women keep an eye for a straight guy. With brute strength fading behind beer-bellied monkey suits, and spines dwindling away, the sensitive man has been born. The cave men of old can now only be found riding motorcycles, fixing your car, acquiring the company you work for, fighting fires or running down criminals in between football games on tv. As a matter of fact, the day could soon come when it is men who are ruthlessly bashed over the head and taken home. However, and luckily for women, the question of whether to drag him by the hair, or by the feet, was solved by the invention of the wheel.

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Rounding the corner, I tripped on my shoe lace. As I bent down on one knee I looked straight out as my hands grabbed my laces and began their dance. A blinding flash, as the sun made a quick turn off a marble surface in the distance. Which happened to make my hands slip upon something they knew as well as my lungs know to breathe. I looked down to concentrate on what I was doing and finished the knot, double tied.

Damn size fourteen shoe laces. After size 12, they make one size only that you can hang a full size man with. Sometimes I think they are artifacts of the appropriate length to hang myself after a full night on a bender of Martinis and M+M’s. Granted a strange, mixture, but indeed this morning was one of those days I was second guessing it. I first encountered the pair on a train returning from Montreal. An older man had got me a Martini, being only twelve at the time I asked for a bag of M+M’s to go along. Over the airs of a Piano player, in those days was quite common, doing his best renditions of Billy Joel and other Magic 101 numbers. Unfortunately the man imparted some ill timed information about the where abouts of the ladies of the evening who paint the old town scarlet. Been back since on my various travels, but have not looked up his veracity as of yet. Which bring me to this morning.

Being a reporter for The Times, keeps me out of my own bed allot. I tend to feel bad kicking all those cockroaches out of their’s, but I figure I am at least a paying client. So the M + M+M’s mixture is a habit of travelocity. I checked into it with Blue Shield and Blue Cross, but there is no coverage for it. So this brings us back to the shoe lace I am tripping on for the second time. I am just not up to snuff this morning as my trick knee does its act. So I pop one my Percs and head mindlessly to that glare.

As I walked past those countless interments of scores of boys who never had a chance coming from the backwoods of some forgotten town with those hilarious signs, population 5. The mill always closes appropriately right before a war.

As I rounded up the grass toward the bright white marble, those three ladies; victory, Peace, and Valor winked at me. Victory flashed her leg, Valor stuck her breasts out, and Peace seemed to be brushed aside by Victory as she did her best Claudette Colbear. I read the four marble slabs that rested flat into the plaza before those ladies. From east to west was The Unknown of WWI, WWII, Korea, and Vietnam. As I got half way through the inscription of the slab on the Unknown from Vietnam, I was disturbed by some punk humming some insidious tune with lewd overtures. I looked up and saw what was very popular in the Urban outfitters. He was wearing something purchased fom the local Army Navy store. But something was off about him, but I could not place it. Just the average military uniform worn without the spit and shine. My time in the Gulf got me five in the jaw for wearing my zoot that way.

“Do you mind! Lets have a moment of silence.”

“For the departed unknowns?”

No for my splitting head, I responded as he only laughed.

“So what are you doing here with the stiffs?” the kid said over his nose.

“Oh I just figure if I show up in enough cemeteries I might find all of those brain cells I have killed in the past. I found this witch doctor in Harlem, oh never mind, it is just a quest in vain.” The kid approached me and offered me a fag, as he shook a pack of Pall Malls to have a couple of cigarettes jockey for top position. I took the winner and turned down his light for my own.

Besides the Trench lighter, the fag comment brought to light the confusion I was facing all morning. I had reported many Gay pride parades in New York, even ask Bloomberg if he would be gay for the day as he earlier proclaimed he was going to be Irish or Italian for the day. No comment.

“So how long you been State side, you know in country?”

” Only three months out of County Roscommon before my departure back across the sea. You believe after fighting those damn Gufies and puddens, I had to share trenches in the desert with them. From throwing grenades at them from ditches on the side of the road to sharing a canteen. Tis a strange world Mary Joseph and Jesus.”

I was a bit lost to what a guffie or pudden was but I nodded any way since he seemed quite agitated.

“By the way, the name is O’Niel, Seamus O.Niel. I hate going around anonymous with those who comes to these parts and commune with me. But being a dime a dozen, you know Joe smith like. But being Jon Doe is something I never could stomach.” he finished with a slug from a silver halmarked flask.

Well hair of the dog and all, I took my obligatory swig from him and felt like I should use that empty grave for the Vietnam unknown. Damn DNA testing gave that one a name and moved him out. Air Force 1st Lt. Michael Joseph Blassie. That war still being a disgrace to most, they never thought of placing maybe one of those M.I.A. in it they keep occasionally digging up in some farmers rice patty.

They never dared give us gulf vets one, the ghosts of this monument would reject him for being not killed by an enemy. But then again it is all friendly fire starting from birth in impoverished towns. Failing schools always breed a great feeding pool for those starched uniforms circling in . Ignorance and desperation is always the way to sow the fields to feed the cannons. From the earth, back to the earth.

“It was a shame about that one, I was just getting to know that shagger before they took him away.”

I thought it strange he had such animosity for the brits being from a southern county. Maybe hatred could still linger in Atrium, but gernading some modern Black and tans in the south? It was not sitting straight. Then that uniform, heavy brown wool. In the summer. Yes he had it open bearing his dirty T with a hole in the belly. As I looked again, I saw the jacket line up just right to see a hole line up with that one. Then the fag, Pall malls not Marlboro or GNC. The trench lighter

“Yes, even more dangerous than three on a match. Damn blow torch will give you away each time.”

“What…”

“Yes, Jesus Mary and Joseph you are one of the slowest. I am to be unknown no more. I told you I am to be no Jon Doe. Cursed alive it was bad enough to be Seamus O’Neil, bloody bullocks on those arhses if they think three months in country before shipped out I was going to be Jon doed and all.”

So I turned quickly around expecting the other two to be standing behind me.

“Nah by this time of day they buggering the senators of the wartime appropriations board, plastic trucks to stop bullets, by noon they should be Harassing that Defense security. A real good Dickens they do on them, real top draw act.”

“Silainte!’ he took one last slug before he disappeared.

“By the way I would quit sucking on those fags, they will kill you every time.”

My cigarette dropped from my lip with a full inch of an ash landing on my London fog. I know who am I to talk, summer time and all. But my blood never seems to warm up from the M+M+M’s until I get a prairie Oyster into me.

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It is incumbent upon every Muslim man and woman to once in their life make Hajj, pilgrimage to Islam’s holiest site, the Kaaba, a granite cubed building inside of the enormous Masjid al Haram outdoor Mosque in Mecca, Saudi Arabia. Allah commanded that the Kaaba be built on Earth to reflect God’s House in Heaven. The Kaaba was built by Adam, while Eve was speaking to Satan.

This years Hajj just ended. Every year Muslims travel from every corner of the globe to make Hajj, pilgrimage to Mecca. Inside of the Kabba, Koranic scriptures are written on the walls. Chapter 56 of the Koran is called “The Event – Mecca.” Koran Chapter 9 verses 29-30 command every Muslim to “Make War on the Christians and the Jews.” As reward for massacring the infidel Christian men, women, and children the Muslims get to go to Mecca in the sky, Heaven, outlined in Chapter 56 of the Koran, “The Event- Mecca.” In Sky Mecca, the faithful are rewarded for massacring Christian and Jewish children with 72 Virgins, crystal clear water, a lush beautiful sparkling clean environment, wine with no side effects, and high Google page rankings without the need for back links.

When the Muslim warriors flew the airplanes into the twin towers on 911 they fully expected to the core of their beings that the moment the planes hit the buildings, they would wake up in Sky Mecca with God, and their virgins, and their wine with no side effects. Who can argue with 1.3 billion people? You go tell them that they’re insane. Send Pope Rat Singer in his high heeled shoes and Phyllis Diller’s ball gown and his ten gallon hat to tell them that in reality Jesus is about to fly down from Heaven on his flying horse and defeat the flying armies of Satan and Rapture every Christian man, woman and child into Heaven, saving them all from the nuclear blasts of the imminent Nuclear World War 3. Inside the Kabaa a bearded black hatted black coated Rabbi naughtily flicks the light switches on and off on the Muslim Sabbath, Friday. 

The Alimentary Canal is the passage in the body through which food passes and in which it is digested, extending from the mouth through the esophagus, stomach and intestines until it is expelled as feces through the anus. Intoxication is when you consume alcohol or a drug which causes your nervous system to lose control, become impaired. In the Old Testament, the Holy Scripture of Islam, Judaism and Christianity, God of Mount Sinai, aka Allah, Jesus and Elohim called the Holy Bible excrement, feces, vomit polluting His two tablets carved in stone. He called the Bible writers ignorant drunks who forged the Bibles and signed them “God.” He accused the Bible writers of being ignorant drunks building for the people a shelter of lies and falsehoods which would cause all of the people to fall backwards and be broken and ensnared and taken. It is all laid out with citations on the Temple of Love website on New page 3. Jesus was even harsher in his denunciation of the Holy Bible. 

This is why it was blasphemy punishable by death to allow lay people to read the Bible themselves. The Priests were certain that the moment this all became known people would walk right out of the Churches and never come back. This is where they were wrong. Who cares if the Holy Bible says 3 times that the Earth doesn’t move and it never will? A mere technicality isn’t going to end Christianity. The Christian people cannot wait for Jesus to come flying down from Heaven and command all of his angels to throw every last non Christian man, woman and child into the fire for being real live devils. 

In the Jewish Old Testament, Psalm 2, the Messiah is to come and take a rod of iron and smash every last Goy, i.e. non Jew, into a million pieces like a potter’s vessel smashed with iron. When Christianity adopted the Old Testament into their King James Bible they changed the word Goy into the word Heathen, meaning non Christian. When the Muslims adopted the Old Testament for Islam, they changed the word Heathen into the word Infidel, meaning non Muslim. “Words are a source of misunderstanding” said the fox in “The Little Prince.” If snakes can talk to Eve then foxes can talk. It is so easy to see insanity in others and impossible to see it in ourselves.

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Then, Hamas came to power in Palestine. Like Iran, and Al Qaeda, Hamas intends to make the Koran the law of Palestine. Blowing up your own body to murder Christians and Jews will become obligatory. Not to worry. Three years ago President Bush publicly announced that he was launching a Crusade in retaliation for 911. The Crusades were a thousand years ago. You’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. During the Crusade the Pope marched his Christian army across Europe massacring every Jew in their path until they reclaimed the Holy Land, standing knee deep in Muslim blood in Jerusalem. The President of the United States of America with his finger on the button of 25,000 100 Megaton nuclear warheads that split into 8 in mid air each with a specific target, is on his way to Jerusalem to meet Jesus when his flying horse touches down on Mount Zion. It should be quite obvious at this point that the little tiny ball called Earth is a lunatic asylum for the criminally insane. Who would want to save it? Why would anyone want to save it? Lets just get it over with already. Nuclear bombs were God’s gift to us to end it all instantly, unlike when the Hutus murdered a million Tutsis with machetes. Tu Tu Tutsi Goodbye.

O.K. Lets get back to this years’ Hajj. 2.5 million people in Earth Mecca this year threw stones at three large stone pillars before dawn in a symbolic stoning of Satan, in order to purge themselves of sin. Years ago, on the day of atonement, the Jewish High Priest laid his hands on the head of a goat then sent it out into the desert carrying with it the sins of the people. Jesus sacrificed himself to wash all Christians of their sins two thousand years before they were born. People will believe and do anything to cleanse themselves of sin and get into Heaven instead of going to Hell after they “die”. 

As the Hajj Devil stoning wound down this year, Reuters prematurely printed that everything had gone well at the Hajj this year. There were no catastrophic stampedes this year, as in years past, Reuters reported. Saudi woman Umm Saad said in the Reuters article carried in the world wide media, “This is my first Hajj and I was scared of the crowds. Then I let faith take over my fear and everything was fine. It has been a good Hajj.” Thirty minutes later Satan struck back. Someone in the crush of people tripped over a piece of luggage and the Muslim men and women fell down like dominoes on top of each other until 350 were dead. Saudi Arabia’s Grand Mufti ended the festivities by saying, “Oh, Muslim nation, there is a war against our Religion, against our culture under the pretext of fighting terrorism. We should stand firm and united in protecting our religion. Islam’s enemies want to empty our religion from its contents and its meaning. But the Islamic soldiers of God will be victorious.” The 2.5 million faithful replied, “Amen.” 

Religion used to be the opium of the masses. It has since been replaced by the Sony Corporation. With all due respect to the Sheikh, and the Pope and the Rebbe, Sony has better speakers. At least their sound is true. We are all about to go up in smoke following what God of Mount Sinai refers to endlessly right in the Holy Bibles of Islam, Christianity and Judaism as deadly lies. The irony is that our map right out of this entire mess is right in these very Bibles. At The Temple of Love we don’t stone statues or promise you virgins. We just show you the map. It’s been right under your noses for 3,200 years. And it was our religious leaders and their followers who gave their blood to bring it to us all. It’s time we followed it. It’s now or never.

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You have got to love soap operas. From the intricate plots and finely woven webs of deceit, to the depths of schemes, they were, are and always will be classics. They are timeless. I wrote this article as my take on them back in 1970 when filling white space for our high school paper. Watch a few soap operas for the next few days and see for yourself how closely they resemble soap operas 36 years ago…

And now for that thought provoking question that plagues men’s souls unceasingly through the bright shining of the day and through the untold dark depths of the night:

Why did Peter, who in reality is actually Superman, fake that he stubbed his toe on the 17th stone on the sidewalk starting at 4th and Grand instead of the 16th stone, which was bigger and more logically the victim of that invulnerable toe and why did Marlys take Sam’s advice to buy the yellow tulip instead of the red and green carnation, while all the time Rodregus knew that the curvaceous young Pandora was at the moment buying the last purple, double-breasted, duck-billed, warbling giraffe in the world for her dear departed Phillip disguised as a lowly second mate on the Queen Mary, which was under attack by the tyrant Cedric because of the terrible beating he had suffered at the hands of Radcliff whose ex-wife Natalie was actually Percival’s long lost great-great-uncle Maximillian in disguise who knew that Zigmond was fond of un-pitted olives stuffed into green grapefruit filled graciously with Granny and Gretchen’s goulash, which was gradually getting gooey and who also knew of Jennifer’s contact Louella in the deep Congo, seized at the time by the dread Gardenia, the 7th cousin of Guenivere, in hopes of receiving the eight-ounce bottle of Elmer’s Glue stored in the vast files in the cortex of Courtney’s colossal computer complex carefully compiled to correct the current curling, commonly crusading as the contagious, communicable, crystalline, cucumber crud, carried on cue sticks by crying cuckoo clock birds continuously to conform with the cunning Cornelius’ cumbersome plot to corrupt the currency and continue the crisis of the Cormandel Coast Cult, complicated by the coroner Cort’s corny connotation to conceal his consecutive coronary contractions constantly crippling his conscious efforts to contradict congenial counterparts’ careful counterfeit correspondence with Corwyn, the cosmic cosmetician?

Was it because Bill had green eyes or was it because Melissa meddled menacingly and meticulously in Maude’s plans to read the calendar to see what year she had been sent to by her superiors in the future?

Tune in tomorrow for the exciting climax created by another deep question.

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