Winston Kramer, genius baby, wiggled in his

Winston Kramer, genius baby, wiggled in his high chair at the mic. If he could spell "prosciiutto" he would win the spelling bee. His mother was nervous. Winston had a diaper rash

from the wooden blocks he was hiding in there to get an edge. He had a history of OD'ing on boogers in pressure situations, but Winston kept his cool this time. "Prosciiutto, p-r-o

-s-c-i-u-t-t-o. Prosciutto." Correct! Applause. Relief. Smile, smile. Back to your chair. Winston realized he'd been holding his breath. Whew. He looked at his scabs.

Winston's scabs looked like prosciutto. He wanted to eat them. His mouth watered. If only he had a nice ripe Fookwang! "The next word in the spelling bee is FOOKWANG." the announce

r laughed. Winston had trouble concentrating because one of his scabs had a bead of fluid on it. It glistened like honey in a prairie. He licked his scab at the spelling bee in fro

Nt of the audience. Winston 's mum said, "That was disappointing, even if you won." His father was ready to say something like "At 14, you ought to know better!' when the bombs

were blitzing London, I was making you, and this is the way you thank me?" Winston's dad always said strange guilt ridden things like that, so naturally when Winston grew up

he placed his dad in old age home. Soon everyone down to the personal valet provided by the posh residence had guilt feelings. After denying him a 4th filet mignon, Chef hung himse

THE KRAKEN!!!!!! The civilians screamed in terror as Chef maniacally laughed and pulled down the rusted lever. The cage crashed open and the beast emerged. Himse Korokano cried.