In the far corner of the boxing ring stood

In the far corner of the boxing ring stood the defending heavyweight champion, Oprah. Her entourage of overweight middle aged woman chanted her name and jeered at the challenger

bandit procedure and protocol. If the Fat Mexican Bandit's gambit worked he could meet the Vice President or First Lady or, at a minimum the Secret

Service agent responsible for his dog's death. "I'm sorry" I said to the Fat Mexican Bandit. "Tell me again how soaking your foreskin in Ruplemintz is going to

help stop the fleas from running into your pubic hair." I exclaimed, sighing in disgust as I looked at the bandit from top to bottom with a quick scan of my eyes.

He scratched at his crotch, looking like he was ready to draw. I turned my face to spit, keeping my eyes on his holster. But when I spit, every tooth in my mouth was ejected in a

Nanosecond, in Kubrick-esque style. I didn't know what a nanoseond was until then. It felt like split-second timing, then there I was at the altar, looking at the ouija board. What

it said was "YES". "You may now kiss the board," said the minister. It tasted like masonite, but it didn't matter. "Oh Ouija Board, You've made me the happiest person on earth," I

exclaimed, and the Ouija Board seemed to vibrate with a joy equal to my own. But the planchette flew across the room and my own tongue seemed drawn to the board to spell out

"WHERE IS MY 1984 SAUVIGNON BLANC." While I tried to wipe the Ouija dust off my tongue, the others pondered over what this could mean. Was it a