hola me llamo marc. el doctor me dijo que

hola me llamo marc. el doctor me dijo que

my llamo dijo was in desperate need of some serious therapeutic massage. But where's a llamo to go? So I went to the llamo lleather bar, and told cute guys of my doctor's prescript

ive out look on life. The other llama's didn't care. They were caught up with their own tawdry brand of vanity. I shrugged my wooly shoulders, dance always cured me of my duldrums

. I was no drama llama, but I set my mp3 player to 'random' and brushed the curly locks from my eyes. I began to croon, "Rama rama llama llama ding dong...she's mine oh mine..."

I didn't realize I was singing out loud until the grouchy old guy next to me whacked me over the head. Pretty rude of him to interrupt me mid-chorus, even if my singing voice was

favorite motivational audio book: "How to Get Ahead When You Don't Have an Axe." My favorite part was coming up. I recited it aloud. The old man came back with a crowbar.

He raised it up at me. "Woah woah woah!" I cried. I had no idea he was delusional. He held his crowbar with the most immense anger. I attempted to calm him, holding out my arms

& flapping them slowly while standing on one leg. "Flamingo-oo," I cooed gently. It was the only thing I could think to do at the time & by golly,it worked! He put the crowbar down

Many years ago someone began anonymously sending him taunting postcards with a pink flamingo. With time Sam became flaming go-rilla mad but now he'd found his dancin' flamin' gorl!