She was thirsty. Boy, was she thirsty. Her

She was thirsty. Boy, was she thirsty. Her mouth felt as if someone had run sandpaper over her tongue and then stuffed it with sawdust. She squinted her eyes against the glaring

water?" not really asking so much as telling since she immediately took a deep drink. She instantly sprayed it all back all over Prof. Dumfarht's bald head and yelled "Ugh Vodka!"

But Prof. Dumfarht wiped his wet head, licked his hand and said, "Mmmm, vodka!" She looked at the glass. They realized two things, 1) They were in college so time did not matter an

d 2) They were in time so college did not matter. "Dripping vodka is my peak, and it's locked in time forever, so why trudge on?" Prof. Dumfarht asked me. He wrote his memoir, "Vod

Strashnii -- Chernobyl Prekrasnii" on my back with Sharpie pens and decorations in different colors. Not sure why I let him -- we weren't "intimate" otherwise, but he was fading

quickly and the body art seemed to comfort him somehow. And Sharpie washes off, right? But when I tried to take my turn and cover his bald pate with Bob Dylan lyrics, he slapped

my nimble fingers away & growled, "I've got Georgia on my mind!" Lowering the Sharpie from his head & respecting his choice of Ray Charles over Bob Dylan, I instead scribbled

an encrypted description of the route to the Magical Golden Ukelele. It required every imaginable mode of transportation, from hovercraft to camel. "If you find the MGU, beware, as

no man has ever seen it and lived. The last man who tried to play it lost two of his fingers and an eye." Roberto decided not to find the Ukelele. It was, after all, rather silly.