I decided to take dance lessons from Ronnie's Dance, Trance, and Pants Studio, run by the great Ronnie himself. When I found out that Ronnie was working for the CIA, things got surreal. Ronnie recruited me with a mixture of patriotic appeal & suggestive dance moves & then convinced me to infiltrate Yuris Saratoga Mojo, Toga & Yoga Academy. My new identity as an aesthete was going well until the day I tried photocopying the Yuris Saratoga Mojo, Toga & Yoga Academy's cafe menu to pass on to Ronnie, my handler. "Gotcha!" A monk's hand cupped Ronnie right in the Jolly Yayhoo Yayhoo. The monk was one of those, his whsipy beard wagged like a puppy's peter. At first Ronnie retracted. But, soon gave in to the monk's advances. A long, uncomfortable silence that felt like an eternity broke with the sound of Ronnie's release. The monk had been forgotten after all of this time by everybody but Ronnie. Ronnie remembered the paprika on the monks fingers when he stuck them in his mouth after gouging Ronnie's eye out -side the Motown recording studio. Naturally, Ronnie's eye gouged eye teared up and ruined her mascara, but her good eye could see the cruel monk lick the paprika from his fingers with all the gumption of a big city lawyer talkin' down to his secretary on a Sunday morn'. Why, shucks, nothin' ungouges an eye like ol' Doc Hickory's mule-tested lemon rub. Only trouble is those lemons sure do sting the hell out of your gouged eye socket. Now, I surely do consider myself a tough guy but I ain’t no masochist. If you ask me, and I know you’r e wantin' to get to the tractor pull before 7, so let's just fergit this whole ordeal, git us a coupla beers and a funnel cake and have a helluva time. So that's what we did.



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