Do not poke the tiger. The Frenchman paid

Do not poke the tiger. The Frenchman paid no heed.

Blistering barnacles, that SOB, pardon my fench said the Englishman, the Man Eater had escaped and

woah oh her she comes!" screamed the sea captain, "She's a man eater!" The mast splintered and salty waves crashed on deck. The First Mate pushed me, "Watch out boy!"

But it was too late, she had all ready chewed me up and spat me out. That's okay, it only tenderized me for more of her abuse. I know she gets weary, whales do get weary wearing

watery walrus waistcoats wrapped around their weathered wristy fins. But who am I to argue with her traditions? I was more surprised by her lack of seasoning as she threw me on the

than you would have us believe." The judge must have made some unseen gesture because I was suddenly hoisted to the top of the tent they had set up because of the rain. From that

position I could smell somebody's peepee. It smelled like garlic. "To prove your innocence," said the judge,"you must inhale deeply the smell of my junk." The rain suddenly let up.

The bed had not been changed in some 25 years and presumably had bedbugs. The stove still worked. After reading an issue of Melody Maker from autumn 1991, it was time to leave.

I turned to go, but the night man stopped me and said, "You can check out, but you can never leave!" I spun and gazed up at the neon sign: HOT FORN and I then I passed out