Her face was a perfect oval, like an circle

Her face was a perfect oval, like an circle that had two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master. She walked past him every day, presumably on her way to work. He was homeless,

but by choice. Employment and abodes were too bourgeois. His lifestyle was a protest against materialism. He wondered if she was mindless or deluded by the status quo. One morning

as she was getting ready for work, she strode out onto the back porch and said, "You! Get out of my back yard and off my damn property!" He knew her mind had been corrupted by

the seductive but empty promise of ownership and ambition. "But Lizzy!", he implored, "You don't need all this. Remember free love? Rembember Haight-Asbury?" Elisabeth, hesitated

"Free love? Nothing comes for free." Liz left for good. Also, she left her premo record collection, a welcome addition in Haight-Asbury. I was ready to set up Doughnut Records.

My manufacturing process was frankly beta. I had worked out how to squash them into an approximate disc shape, but couldn't deal with the jam. Doughnut Records shareholders sent

me warnings about being too squeamish. I tried everything but my jelly phobia stifled me. Doughnut Records had to be made! I took the direct approach overcoming my fear, jam bathes

-pheres (sp) submerged in jam as immersion therapy, that sort of thing. Finally I was cured of my fear of jam, or so I thought, until I saw that fateful strawberry jelly doughnut

clutched in the murder victim's rictus frozen hand reaching out at her and looking like she, the victim, was holding the heart she had just ripped from her chest. Not a stawberry j

Am sarnie but one of Auntie Flo's Scottish finger sandwiches ominously floated overhead, saying "I told you so!". This finger followed me everywhere and sat on the counter. Ugh!