I want to tell the story of a durable little

I want to tell the story of a durable little neck zit. It started out like a subterranean volcano, wide, hot and sloping. I really tried not to pinch while it was still gestating b

ecause I thought my neck hairs were Pompeiian villagers. I even quit smoking so they wouldn't mistake the puffs for volcanic ash. But I didn't shower much, so their crops

reeked of the patchouli oil I used to cover up the rancid B O. There was a small but loyal contingent of sensory-challenged shoppers who faithfully purchased the crops at a farmers

insurance agency, where lawyers were lined up like some FEMA disaster aid kiosk. Lawyers ready for the first feint of fainting from the rancid

rat-kings seeking to overthrow the Finch, Finch and Finch "Sue 'Em And Weep" branch of persecuting attorneys. The shoe-elves threw all their gusto at the litigious bastards,

But like any unscrupulous lawyers, the Finch, Finch and Finch just flew the coop, changing names to Przewalski and Sons. The ratking had the shoe-elves make mile high boots to

reach Denver from below. The legal culture had changed dramatically since his early days as a congressional page. He looked sorrowfully upon the distinguished portrait of his

Most of us were sad. But it was one hell of a wake we'd held after we'd buried him. I was still half cut 3 days later. I guess that's one of the reasons that

make me unburied him. I had the hope that he was not really dead or that he would reborn as a zombie. But no, he is just a corpse. The worms seem to enjoy it. I wish I were a worm