When he reached for the last fry he heard

When he reached for the last fry he heard a voice, "Please don't eat me." He looked in the bag. The last french fry was weeping and looked at him with such sorrowful eyes.

"Please, PLEASE don't eat me!" the lone french fry repeated. "If you don't eat me, I'll grant you three wishes! But you also have to promise to never eat french fries ever again!"

I thought for a second, then asked "Do pan fries count? And can I still eat mashed potatoes? And what about sweet potato fries?" The fry seemed to ponder for a second, then

jumped into the hot oil. I was saddened by the little fry guy's decision, but then I was overcome with happiness and drool when I realized how awesome these french fries were going

to be once I started calling them freedom fries. People say that there isn't much in a name but I believe that is where the flavour

gods install their malware: in the taste buds. "Gustatory sabotage," Lieutenant Liberty asserted. He added nothing to this, simply staring at the random dot stereogram of a nude

strawberry. He dreamt about fragrant pears and juicy tomatoes ripened in the Mediterranean sun, but since the taste bud sabotage Lieutenant Liberty had been plotting revenge & codi

The circumferance was 38 octopi playing the piano all night.

since the octopi occupied tactile fractile dimensions they squeezed an infinite number of notes into their Rydberg ragtime. The octopus in the garden's jazz festival reached a high

enough frequency to seriously shatter the space-time multi-verse. The world ended. The end.