..and so the decision young man, The Lady

..and so the decision young man, The Lady or The Tiger?" I adjusted my turban and regretted my situation. Now I know why the prince traded places with me. What does a pauper know?

I took a deep breath and meekly whispered, "Um, I'm going to go with C, the Lady?" "Is that your final answer?" "Yeah." "That is the correct answer for 16,000 dollars!"

The Millionaire: Survival Edition studio audience went wild. But I had already used my CPR, phone a hospital, and Ask WedMD lifelines, and I was only at the $32,000 question:

constant whirring and clicking. But that was not as bad as the disturbing grin the semi-fossilized Regis wore on his face like a demented

Jack Palance posing for a sculpture of himself to be presented at the Las Vegas Chamber of Commerce Charity Potato Sack Race, in which the Pretend Mafia introduced several new

giant inch worms as the top contenders. Jack Palance tried to keep very, very still, but he had an itch on his upper outer thigh that was embarrassing. The potato sack race sculpto

r had meta-temporal vision that allowed her to sculpt the potato sack racers accurately. Jack Palance finally scratched the itch: "I am the Fiction and I write the Folds," he croon

ed. Hearing this, the sack racers realized they existed within a fold. "How are we going to survive to the next fold?" they asked. One tapped his chin and said, "We are sack racers

. We never, ever give up!" & with that simple bit of encouragement the sack racers bounded for the finish. GO, sack racers, GO! And you know what? They're still going. The End.