'Dear Sandra' the Email began, 'I know what

'Dear Sandra' the Email began, 'I know what I said last in the back of the car about what I felt for you, but in truth it was all lies. What I meant to say was that I thought you

should start seeing other bison. I got that job in South Dakota posing for Native American commemorative coins. I'm going to meet a real-life Sacajawea impersonator! I hope you

understand the symbolism of my act when I behead the Sacajewa impersonator and post the head on a pike just outside the Native tourist attraction. I want to convey the

post-industrialist need of these Mesopotamian emigrants who came to the Americans millennia ago. I lunged at the Sacajewa [sic] impersonator with a rusty spoon and slurred my cry:

"O mangy south! O the gist of it, the pervy South! my South! O quick meddlin rich buds, plus love! Good'n'evil!" I walloped the nearest mesopotamian emigrant with my tentanus spoon

, but the woman was not accustomed to being spooned like that I must say. She turned around and swatted me but good. "At least it wasn't a dirty fork!" I yelped.

The ship was going down & this was no time for shenanigans. My utensils were useless. Unless... "QUICK!" I shouted at the woman. "Grab my butter knife!" She had little choice, but

to hand me her butter knife. The ship was starting to sink & I had to at least try. For Karen & the kids. I sprinted to the kitchen & grabbed a pack of margarine. "Where's the hole

Butter and light butters difference I wondered? But there was no time to think about that now. I stabbed the captain and made him fill the hole. So he stuck I used the butter

better than I'd used the light butter. But not as well as I Can't Believe It's Not Butter, ironically.