The pistol glistened wetly in his palm; heavier

stakeout of the gin joint was wearing him down. Could he even see his mark in this downpour? He remembered what his boss said, "Two shots to the head and just walk away."

He saw his target emerge from the bar's side entrance. The alley was dark, but he had prepared for these conditions. He trained his sights on the moonshiner and pulled the trigger.

George W had gone back in time and had become a prohibition agent.

By proxy of self-fulfilling prophecy, his aim to stockpile all the liquor next to all the oil, & his general ineptitude, George W. ended up /causing/ prohibition to go bust. Timetr

Ine was positioned to conduct raids to open the new Silk Road. The tea stockpiles were no longer transported by freight trains. The camels did all the work.

So no one was surprised when Carmelo the camel strode into the office and called, "C'mon everybody, guess what day it is!" The scent of bergamot permeated the air.

"It's your birthday, Carmelo!" said Roz the receptionist, lifting a bergamot flavored cake out from behind the desk. Carmelo was so surprised he nearly spat out some tar.

Carmelo managed to hold in the tar - barely- but swallowed some accidentally. He felt ill an chucked ll over the cake and Roz the receptionist. Maynard the janitor was appalled and

rogenic and a vehement antismoker. Maynard folded his arms & hrumphed. He always knew the tar in cigarettes wasn't good for you. He'd be damned if he'd clean up Camelo's tarball.