With hair that would set the teeth of a comb

With hair that would set the teeth of a comb on edge, a loud shirt that would dim the neon lights of Vegas, and looking like an undernourished cockatoo, he stepped onto the stage

and bobbed his head up and down. Someone had scattered bird seed on the stage. He smoothed it out with his toes and started to tap dance to a lively tune. The audience was

waiting through this stupid opening act because there was a rumor that Gallagher was performing tonight.

It turned out to be true. Gallagher did perform tonight but at a completely different venue. I, however, ended up having to sit through 7th Har (Cash) Monies. I actually felt my re

gret surfacing in my throat. Damn them, and to hell with Gallagher and his many watermelons. I am not a prisoner of his mayhem. I will not be humiliated by his hammer! Tonight,

I locked up my prop comedy props so that that bastard Gallagher couldn't get his grimy mitts on them to steal. He made me too sick to perform in the same club as him. Stephen King

managed to break into my cache and stole my watermelon. I found him by the roadside, his thick glasses coated with the sweet juice. "Stephen King!" I shouted, "just because you are

my #1 author doesn't mean we can't hook up!" King dropped to his knees & rung his hands together: "Please don't imprison me & feed me my own thumb! I'll order you a lifetime supply

of co-" Eric looked down at King and angrily motioned for him to sit up. "Oh please. Stand up you idiot! Find. But after work. Just wait at home for me. Okay?"

King nodded in the affirmative and made his way home. Eric never did come home.