"Com'on Men! Do you want to live forever?"

"Com'on Men! Do you want to live forever?" Sarge yelled as we attacked the next pill box. I decided then that I did. I packed up my rifle and bayonet and flagged a taxi.

I told the cabbie "take the fast road to Yonkers" My uncle'd asked me to take over the reins at Colt Runabout. I fantasized this to avoid facing my frontline amputation. The nurses

all asberger syndrome so they swung all the amputees by their hair and made phantom limb

o-line dancing the biggest hit since Foot Loose. Soon, the hospitals overflowed with people who claimed to suffer from Alien limb syndrome, and insisted their feet be removed.

my defollication. It was a real rip-off though & I was disgusted to see that one particularly stubborn thatch still remained. This would not do. I got out my blow torch.

I recycled the Margaret Thatchery for my new invention: Dinnerware gloves for eating slimy, greasy foods. I don't want to help rubbery fried chicken franchises, but it's disgusting

to touch a McNugget with your bare hands, and also illegal in 7 states. If only I could patent my gloves, my domination of the culinary fashion industry would be complete. Unless

the law has changed, I won't be able to patent anything while the head of the patent office is infected with a brain-destroying virus. I decide to offer my glove patent to Mars

Alien Outfitters Corp - it was perfect for keeping their 3-fingered customers hands warm in cool Outer Solar System climates. Now to invent 11 toed socks. It's all go.