"You got a fast car. I want a ticket to anywhere.

"You got a fast car. I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we make a deal?" the scruffy hobo rasped as he leaned against my Lamborghini. "YOLO," I replied. "Get in & hold on."

I tried not to gag when he closed the car door, and had to fight the urge to make him walk through the car wash himself. I began to think that giving this stinky hobo a ride

, strapped to the car roof, wasn't the greatest idea, either. Once through the car wash, the hobo shook himself off like a wet dog, spritzing the attendants with soapy water.

They gasped, their clothes drenched. The hobo looked up and simply ran. He didn't make it far until he was struck by a slow moving car. The car beeped loudly. "Hey, watch it!"

But he didn't cared. He didn't even looked at the careless driver. He got up and continued running until he disappeared around the corner. "Am I supposed to follow him?" - I was

a rookie cop. Lance, the cynical fat cop who ate deep fried twinkies rolled his eyes. "Hell, yes you're supposed to follow him." I made sure my seat belt was on before I pulled

the Twinkie from his cold, dead hands. A heart attack had taken Lance, just like that. I ate the Twinkie and wept as I drove him to the morgue in the squad car. "He was a hell of a

rodeo clown," my partner said patting me on the back and awkwardly trying to wipe the tears from my face. I nodded while brushing his hands away. The Twinkie was moist.

The moistness of the Twinkie was a signal from Chernobyl. "Now look, young pard," I had to say, "this rodeo ain't new to me. I've done some damage in my life and you should have a

Good insurance plan in case you get poisoned. " Agent 999 was vigorously gathering evidence Mr. Twinkie had colluded with Mr. Snowball to create the ideal snack cake more cheaply.