Fiddle faddle fuddle mud pie. If a puddle

Fiddle faddle fuddle mud pie. If a puddle can muddle then why can't I?

Fee-fi-fo-fum...I feel like a coke and rum

would ruin my marriage, so I'll stick to watered-down gravy," said the giant, ever-mindful of his wife's uneasiness around drunkards. The local mice were nibbling on his beanstalk

which was how they did things back then. That would never fly now. The giant started making a strange mountain in his mashed potatoes. A mountain where aliens had visited the

loo which I often invited strange women to skip to. Again, that is how we did it back then. We were all strangers to each other. We were not yet up to speed on the concept of TMI.

nor were we up on slang from cultures not our own so when this particular lady just left me standing there and skipped off in the direction of the bathrooms

I assumed she meant that she had to powder her nose. I stood there for a few hours waiting for her return, then decided that she wasn't my type anyway and went to Putrinelli's Bar

but right away I saw my judgmental yoga instructor there so instead I ducked into a cigar lounge and figured they probably wouldn't notice if I just tucked away in the corner and

built a robot. You wouldn't believe how easy it is to build a robot in a cigar lounge. The sparks and smoke of the welding blends in nicely with the ambiance. Passing robo a cigar,