The wires in the wall sparked, igniting the

The wires in the wall sparked, igniting the leaking gas pipes nearby. The fire travelled through the gas pipes within seconds, spreading through most of the house, exsploding along
With the apparatus designed by Marcel Duchamp to detonate any bombs in the old armory. R. Mutt and R. Rose Selavy were having tea when John Cleese joined them for chess. A peppery
cheese wheel cradled in a canvas tote slung over his shoulder filled the air with its tangy aroma. Everybody wanted some of Cleese's cheese. In exchange, R. Rose Sélavy offered
her stocking clad legs. "Anything for the tangy robust cheese," she pleaded, strutting sluttily in front of him. "Please baby ...
melt me and make me into a dip". He said, "Honey, you were a dip when I met you". Then he smiled and embraced her. They were still in an embrace when the shots
killed both of them, but they never stopped hugging each other. Their love was even stronger than anything.
Legends say that the two of them are still lying there, dead in each other's arms, like two star-crossed lovers destined for a tragic romance. But would the murderer be caught?
The murderer roamed through the night, expelling sonnets on the cool September air, muttering under his breath in perfect iambic pentameter. "How doth thee
like me NOW?" he uttered, wondering if that was indeed iambic pentameter. All the while, the poetry police were on his tail, accusing him of writing sloppily, like Woab, and
he realized as he fled that he'd rather live a life on the lamb from the literary authorities than ever give in to their constructive, but highly subjective, guidelines.

Started: 2016-06-15 13:23:33
Finished: 2016-07-23 23:10:35

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