But he'd lied. He didn't have Parkinson's

But he'd lied. He didn't have Parkinson's disease he

had a bad case of jungle fever and would say whatever he had to in order to "cure" it. But he was a bad liar. Saying that he had Parkinson's didn't really enamor him to Serena, who

shoved a tennis ball down his throat with her racquet. "Stop!" he begged. But Serena showed no mercy, even to disabled line judges. An ADA lawyer stormed the court with hogs and

logs and bogs and pogs and dogs and Nog. Serena pelted everyone on the tennis court with balls like a special move with a surplus of mana. "You don't wanna do this! Think!" said

"Oh no, four of those sentences were incomplete," the Puzzle Master said, completely ignoring my not-very-subliminal message. My stomach grumbled loudly.

"Got any food?" I said. When the Puzzle Master pulled a bag of dried banana out of his pocket, I grimaced. I hate banana, and he knew it. He smiled at me.

It was that smile. You know the one. The smug smirk of "Gotcha". Thinking fast, I slapped the underside of the bag and sent dried banana chips flying. "This does not a-peel!"

"YOU! YOU DIDN'T?! YOU MADE A BANANA JOKE? HAVE YOU GONE BANANAS?!" She was so furious with me she didn't even notice i'd dropped her banana chips everywhere.

I got down on my knees and picked up every last banana chip, blew the dirt off them, wrapped them in my handkerchief and gave them back to her.