I dusted off my Wii, content to play it.

  • I dusted off my Wii, content to play it. I pulled out the only game I owned, unplayed for years, the game was Super Mario Galaxy. I remember all the times that I would
  • eat tacos & play with my best friend Charlie from down the street. Come to think of it, he always threw me into the lava. Can you believe that? What a jerk! Makes me so mad I could
  • bite my pillow! Well I get Charlie back. I poured hair remover into his dandruff shampoo bottle.
  • Then he...chortle...he replaced the chocolate chips with Ex-Lax! Oh Gawd! We were a couple of knuckleheads, that's fo sho. Me an' Charlie, always screwin' around. Until one day
  • the Ex-lax guy backed a truck of pig slurry into the living room. Two foot tide mark of scum on the wall - we might have to redecorate. Charlie an me crept out of
  • the muck. Our living room was swamped and we felt... nauseous. Hadn't I read somewhere about slurry-induced asphyxiation? "Charlie!" I wheezed "This isn't the Ex-Lax we ordered!
  • What the hell is it? The label is in Russian. Anyone here know Russian?" Dr. Zhivago said, "I do!" and translated it slowly, having lost his reading glasses. Dr. Fyssovich had his.
  • Zhivago's translation was more poetic and elusive, whereas Fyssovich's was clinical and straightforward. But the Russian on the label made no sense. "Should we open the container?"
  • "Let us open it," said Zhivago in a thick Russian accent, "and see where life takes us." Fyssovich scoffed. Tired of their bickering, I twisted the lid, and immediately dropped it
  • in a manner that a century later would be called a "mike drop". I scoffed at the them and left them to their own devices. Zhivago picked his up and calibrated it after the burn I


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