"I never could bring myself to massage feet.

"I never could bring myself to massage feet. That's why I got my first divorce." I said loudly. "What about the second?" Harold asked over the noise in the crowded bar we occupied.

"Well, did I ever tell you about Jessica? She was a good wife, but never as compliant as I wished" Something in my eyes intimidated Harold. I started the story of the divorce:

For a long time she had been fooled by the numerous "THIS IS NOT A SEX DUNGEON" signs I had pasted all over the door, but eventually she began to wonder. Then came the fateful day.

The day when the beholder burst from the Sex Dungeon, squawking in bestial rage and firing magic beams from each of its many vagina-stalks. I dove behind the couch, speed-dialing

Beholders-Begone. The folks from BB arrived in full MirrorSuit montage. But the Beholder had transformed Richard and Marty into giant walking penises already.

So to be campy, they put on roller skates and went down Melrose. Marty got a cramp and Richard got a chance to use his newly acquired shiatsu energy moves, the Beholder

was so proud of Richard! There was gonna be a full page spread in the yearbook for sure! Marty was not pleased. Always self-conscious about his legs, especially unshaven as they

were. Marty studied the remnants of the Black Dynamite Chia Pet serum, then turned his attention to the Schick model-in-waiting. He vowed to usher Richard into the man club whether

or not he had an even quantity of plums between his pockets. Marty and Richard coddled a long, secretive night of a relationship in that club, but Marty was just a goldminer.