I like the smell of burnt toast in the morning.

I like the smell of burnt toast in the morning.

It smells like ... victory. During 'nam my taste buds were wiped clean by Agent Orange. Now I can only appreciate the extremes like burnt toast and bitter chicory coffee.

Which is how I got my job down at the Hollerin Harry's Habanero Hot Sauce company. They asked if recipe #42 was good. "All my nose hairs are burnt off. Is that good?" I said.

"Yes, very good," replied Harry, inspecting my singed nostrils. "Now taste this one." He handed me a small black bottle. Hmmm...didn't look like hot sauce to me. I touched my tongu

e with a 9 volt battery and thought of yesteryear. Harry tugged on my arm, "Can we go now?" Oh Harry, you ruin everything. "Look you, I am in the middle of nostalgia, you see

Only the promise of nanobiology and nanotechnology. I see problems with it." Harry was shocked anyone would mention this delicate subject. It was classified information. I fled

with my hands over my ears, praying no one would catch me. Then I tripped over my own legs.

I remember that as I was falling I was wondering how it was that my legs had betrayed me like this. I too busy giving my legs the stink eye that I had not noticed the branch my eye

concert groupie known only as "Precious". She had been following Joe Dirt and his band across the country. Both being brain damaged, we knew at once it was love. And it was.