It's nice to be stuck in a fantasy isn't

It's nice to be stuck in a fantasy isn't it? But you can never be stuck forever. Some day you have to return reality... where it is kill or be killed.

But that day is not today. So he stuck his hand back in his waistband and ate some more kettle corn.

I HATE kettlecorn. And EVERYONE who eats kettkecorn. And so I shot his hand, the one that was in hus pants. (I think i shot something else too)

. I looked. I listened. Aside from the kettle corn eater's screams, all was still. No more popping kernels or crinkly bags to distract me from the task at hand.

I whipped out my sabre, so sure danger was lurking behind the circus tent. "A-HAHHHHAAA!" I screamed, my weapon poised...but...nothing. I thought I heard the bearded lady

snort with laughter. "Whats so funny?" I asked the bearded lady. But she just kept on laughing and soon I got tired, so I put my sabre away. Then she said in a thick russian accent

"You just gave me a craving for vodka, sprats and caviar!" Where was the nearest russian grocery? There were none in the yellow pages. I found one, somehow,, but it was ten miles

from The Integral and my friend Dmitri accompanied me only grudgingly. "Great idea. Vodka, sprats and caviar -- enticements of the fallen -- are surely worth the horrors we shall

face in the upcoming state mandated gladiatorial games." Dmitri grabbed a bottle of Vodka and gobbled it down. I ate the caviar.