"Biscuits! Crumpets! Scones! Get 'em while

"Biscuits! Crumpets! Scones! Get 'em while their hot!" cried the Muffin Man on Drury Lane. A group of American tourists, charmed by the plump little street vendor, gathered around.

But while the muffin man sold his piping hot wares, a prickly sense of recognition washed over the American tourists. Did they know the muffin man?

"Ello darling," grunted the muffin man at Elspeth, "wot's yer pleasure?" "Oh... muffins, of course," she giggled. "Tell me about yer muffin, Americans' ones is different," he leere

Elspeth looked around for the implied 'd' but she couldn't find it. She wondered if she was supposed to supply it herself but being from Kansas she was not that free with her 'd's.

Elspeth researched in the library that Kansas had, in the far past, been robbed of all its d's by its arch-nemesis: The Ar-Kansas.

"Carry on my waywar son/ There'll be peace when you are one," Kansas sang. "That sucks" yelled the audience. Clearly, Kansas had to get to Arkansas and get their d's back before

The Sons of Articulation gave Kansas a good beat-down. But the SOA were a bunch of idiots, thought The Sons of Memory. "You'll be gone more than one, dimwit apologizers!" declaimed

the Artifice of Litany " and thy shant desire less than More!" So it was back in the hatchback for more causeway interplay.

I must have pulled a million donuts on the onramp that evening, a single tear rolling down my cheek as the sun dipped below the horizon. I think it was the caustic tire smoke.

Either that, or the thought of all those sweet, sweet fried donuts no longer in my car but rather strewn and rolling on the onramp. I used to have donuts. Alas, now I have none.