I walked along the smouldering ruins of buildings

I walked along the smouldering ruins of buildings and cars. I noticed a rioter was still trying to steal a fridge. I told him everybody else was gone and the police were coming. He

loaded a Kenmore Elite into his van and said, "The after-riot is always better than the riot." The feeling was mutual, so we joined forces, roaming the countryside in search of

McRib. The Kenmore Elite in the van

had no idea of Stan Kenmore's plan to drive Stan by van to get a McRib. His elite force, of course,

was to go buy a horse, on the way to buy a McRib for Stan, he loved the pork in the shape of the ribs. But back to the plan, sadly, the wheel of the van was stuck in a can

of spaghetti. The processed kind that only comes with 4 meatballs. It doesn't matter how much you look forawrd to that can of spaghetti, each time is a let down, because you only

have about ten letters to work with. Since my name was Zanquaj, I was never able to spell it out. I wrote to Chef Boyardee personally to explain my

frustration with his products. Chef Boyardee wrote me back, informing me that he didn't actually make the food. He had his slaves in China do most of the dirty work while he lounge

d around his plush Italian villa, not concerned in the least that those Chinese slaves might be substituting dogmeat in the Beefaroni. When the USDA contacted Chef Boyardee, he