"No. Well, maybe...ok, FINE! I'm in." Curse

"No. Well, maybe...ok, FINE! I'm in." Curse

it, I didn't even know how to play this game. I passed him a card. "Hit me," he said. So I hit him.

I hit him so hard that it knocked his toupee to the floor. Then, at that precise moment, the 300 lb. man living in the apartment above fell through the ceiling and landed on

my drum kit. Kaboom, thud! A ceiling light fixture and piles of plaster lay scattered around the hefty tenant. I went to help him. Still fuming, the other man picked up his toupée.

The disgruntled man began to do some rigorous back combing, followed by teasing hair from one side of his head to the other - then finishing off with an Ozone-busting fix of hair

spray from before they were banned in the 70s. After all this time they were no longer that fragrant, They still depleted the Ozone Layer. The disgruntled hirsute man put hair sp

ray on his chest hair, after all, how would one keep their chest hair curly? It takes a lot of hard work styling them and he would need to look his best before he travels to the Oz

Grand Prix Chest Hair Tournament at the Emerald City. Alas, though his chest hair was thick and luxurious, he came in second to the Oz Doorman, who had dyed his chest hair green.

The Oz Doorman posed in the winner’s circle naked from waist up, showing his winning green chest hair as the crowd chanted WHO! RANG! THAT! BELL? WHO! RANG! THAT! BELL? Just then,

the bell's dinger dropped about six feet, hung there long enough for all to get out of the way, then crashed to the floor. The bell was, alackaday, no more.