It was 4th and two. 29 seconds to go. I knew

It was 4th and two. 29 seconds to go. I knew they'd be crowding the line of scrimmage, almost assuredly blitzing. I screamed out an audible and looked at Jerry. He nodded. I gunned

pig skin for a three-pointer in the basket and KO'd the goalie for a 10 count. The ref blew a two minute warning and I was sent to the penalty box. The rules sure had changed.

I used to be able to run around the city with an enemy's head until it was soft and smelly like a giant chicken dumpling. Now I was kicking field goals in hockey nets and passing

soccer balls out to kids on Halloween. Things were turning inside out and elderly nieghboors were looking scared. Kids were running the schools, pets were abandoned and running

pyramid schemes in the parking lot of Target. How could this have happened to our sleepy little town? The only way to get answers would be go to the Grand Poobah and plead for

clemency, but Winnie the Grand Poobah said his parking lot scams were here to stay. We were crestfallen, but the West Mississippi Plastic Pants Task Force hatched a heroic plan.

Tangled in a web of bureaucracy and needlessly long names, Al was glad at least the WMPPTF had a plan. That he was to be the hero of said plan? Well, that was a little more dubious

, in fact, he had more involvement in the naming of the WMPPTF than he did in this plan, and he didn't even know what the letters WMPPTF were supposed to stand for. Still, he could

be proud of accomplishing something. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. What did that acronym mean? WMPPTF. Hm. Ever since the accident, he found it hard to remember

...and the it came to him: What Might Purple Professor Thereby Finish. Then he understood this was the end of the story.