There's an invisible man in my coffee pot.

There's an invisible man in my coffee pot. He worked at the CIA for years. He knows state secrets. He was killed in Iran and his essence moved into my coffee pot. Ah, breakfast is

ready. I think I'll take it on a tray into the living room and sit in front of the telly, while I consider possible political maneuvers of my toast and jam. I savor several bites

, then it all becomes clear. Boris Johnson, Mayor of London was on a personal vendetta, showering me with parking fines. I needed advice, political advice only my toast & jam could

supply. Jam tried to change the subject, so I asked Toast to give it to me straight. According to him, the best I could hope for is at least 5 years, and a parole-on-rye. It was

better than a loaf sentence, however & I appreciated Toast's dry assessment. "Don't try to bagel yourself out of this," he advised. "And don't try to butter up the judge." My trial

was presided over by sour old Judge Pumpernickel. "All rise" called the bailiff. The Judge sat on his tuffet, & the baliiff swore in the Jury, a bunch of white breads, I was toast.

"You've got quite a rye sense of humor!" chortled Judge Pumpernickel."But no matter how you slice it, I knead you to tell me where you were at 10 pm on the night of Sept. 23, 1974.

The defendant rose. "OK, but at yeast I'd butter warn you. I can be aloaf about such things." "Proceed" said Judge Pumpernickel. "Me and my friend Squaw had just bagged 3 sourdough

pizza scum in the alley who were rolling passersby. We taught those crepes a lesson." "Matso fast” said the Judge “you strudeled a fine line. Next time, I throw your buns in jail.”