It was an exquisite corpse. The ends were

It was an exquisite corpse. The ends were perfect from the beehive coif to the freshly french manicured toes. The only problem I could see was the middle. It needed something like

the bulging triceps of Popeye the Sailor. I would have to shanghai some drunken salt in the Opium district. With a few swift cuts the torso would fit perfectly with the rest of the

Chevas brotherhood. He used to be in the Crown Royal crew. He'd had a duster made from the purple felt bags. Now he was with Chevas and

guava and he liked tacos and burritos and drove a camaro and wrote his ese with a bit sombrero while watching Zorro and playing balaclava and khav khalash and borscht bratwurst in

his dream. He woke with an idea for his restaurant chain! A Germanorussomexican Fusion cuisine driveup. Tellers wearing Zorro masks & lederhosen served tequila in matryoshyka dolls

while yodeling mariachi tunes to the sound of balalaikas. "Why did we have to eat here?", Glenn inquired of his wife NettyPotty. "Honey it's sophisticated." , she answered. "Nothin

quite like live music, no-siree-bob!" Glen muttered something about "dead music" that NettyPotty thought best to ignore. After a twenty minute wait there was no sign of the waiter.

Little did they know that the waiter had donned a Rowlf costume and was jammin with the band, laying down a sweet staccato keyboard riff. Glen was getting seriously hungry and

provide the requested comestibles. It was a rather long voyage home on the three-legged camel but Glen kept us in high spirits with his endless haikus.