Victor could not get a date. Maybe it had

  • Victor could not get a date. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had a single eyebrow encircling his entire face.

  • Victor was afraid of the beautician. He had heard that pink shirted metrosexuals with pointy white shoes visited the beautician and did not want to become

  • part of anyone's weave, but inevitably it happened, just as surely as the swallows returned to Capistrano and the dugongs to Cleveland. Often, in their haste to avoid being weaved

  • weaves get a little hairem scarem. Weave's really wig out when you try to discard them. They feel stranded. Weaves would like to thread themselves through our lives.

  • You see, a weave is like a subconscious thought or desire which is woven into the tapestry of our dreams. The problem occurs when the weave just won't let go. We all need closure

  • or at least an instinct for detection.

  • For instance, let me elucidate, the smudge on your shirt collar indicates you were at a barbecue at the time of the murder, and by the taste of it, you had Memphis ribs.

  • I grinned at Det. Smithers' remark. "Then I'm in the clear. You said the killer must have eaten North Carolina pulled pork, and I ate Memphis ribs." He had elucidated more than

  • I needed just then but the rest still was duly noted and bound in the background. Smithers: You fool, it takes more than a poor sauce to make North Carolina pulled porker from a

  • a sow's ear. It takes years of study at the Culinary Institute of America. (But by that time Mr. Burns had swallowed his Italian suede change purse and was fast asleep.)



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