Tank & Zaya love sex. Tank pleases Zaya,

Tank & Zaya love sex. Tank pleases Zaya, & Zaya Tank. Tank thinks Zaya's breasts are clouds. Zaya craves Tank's buttery touch. Tank smooths her soul, hits Zaya's secret nasty spot

with a deodorizing disinfectant since it was stinking up the joint. That's better Tank though to himself, ignoring Zaya's indignant look. She was busy making loomed potholders for

her grandparents. Oh how they loved holding pots, Zaya thought. She'd heard them talking about all kinds of pots the night before when they thought she was asleep. Acapulco gold

That what the banal economist told me as we hiked further into Mordoff's mountain. I heaved my dwarf axe at his briefcase. Papers flew down the tunnel and landed on the scaly claw

of the arcade machine. But then, I woke up from that horrible dream and witnessed the following terrible sight. Bea Arthur had

been baking cakes in the kitchen, talking up a storm. I could see the smoke billowing out of the oven -- the cakes were on fire. Bea didn't notice. Neither did the other Golden

One, entranced as she was by her tea leaves. "Um, Bea? Doesn't this combination mean..." But her words were lost in the explosion of fire, oven door, and cake bits.

The bodies were charred beyond recognition. So the coroner's report read simply that the crime scene was battery.

Keeping chickens in the same shed as the generator was the deadliest mistake the amateur chicken farmer could ever have made. His wife got the insurance and married the coroner.